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By  the  same  Author 

The  Treasure  of  the  Humble* 
Translated    by    Alfred    Sutro. 
With   Introduction   by  A.    B. 
Walkley.    Crown  8vo,  5s.  net. 


Wisdom  and 
Destiny 


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isdom  and 
Destiny    ^ 

'By  Maurice  Maeterlinck 

Translated  by  Alfred  Sutro  si^ 


London:  George  Allen,  Ruskin  House 
156  Charing  Cross  Road  mdcccxcviii 


op  Y 


Printed  by  Ballantyne,  Hanson  dr'  Co. 
At  the  Ballautyne  Press 


To  GEORjGETTE  leblanc 

/  offer  tljj$  hook,  wherein  her  thought 
f     blends  with  mine. 


INTRODUCTION 


THIS  essay  on  Wisdom  and  Destiny 
was  to  have  been  a  thing  of  some 
twenty  pages,  the  work  of  a  fortnight ; 
but  the  idea  took  root,  others  flocked  to 
it,  and  the  volume  has  occupied  M. 
Maeterlinck  continuously  for  more  than 
two  years.  It  has  much  essential  kin- 
ship with  the  "  Treasure  of  the  Humble," 
though  it  diff^ers  therefrom  in  treatment ; 
for  whereas  the  earlier  work  might  perhaps 
be  described  as  the  eager  speculation  of 
a  poet  athirst  for  beauty,  we  have  here 
rather  the  endeavour  of  an  earnest  thinker 
to  discover  the  abode  of  truth.  And  if 
the  result  of  his  thought  be  that  truth  and 
happiness  are  one,  this  was  by  no  means  I 
the  object  wherewith  he  set  forth.  Here 
he  is  no  longer  content  with  exquisite 
visions,  alluring  or  haunting  images ;  he 

ix  "Xd 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

probes  into  the  soul  of  man  and  lays  bare 
all  his  joys  and  his  sorrows.  It  is  as 
though  he  had  forsaken  the  canals  he 
loves  so  well — the  green,  calm,  motionless 
canals  that  faithfully  mirror  the  silent 
trees  and  moss -covered  roofs — and  had 
adventured  boldly,  unhesitatingly,  on  the 
broad  river  of  life. 

He  describes  this  book  himself,  in  a 
kind  of  introduction  that  is  almost  an 
apology,  as  "  a  few  interrupted  thoughts 
that  entwine  themselves,  with  more  or 
less  system,  around  two  or  three  sub- 
jects." He  declares  that  there  is  nothing 
it  undertakes  to  prove ;  that  there  are 
none  whose  mission  it  is  to  convince. 
And  so  true  is  this,  so  absolutely  honest 
and  sincere  is  the  writer,  that  he  does  not 
shrink  from  attacking,  qualifying,  modi- 
fying, his  own  propositions;  from  ad- 
vancing, and  insisting  on,  every  objection 
that  flits  across  his  brain ;  and  if  such 
proposition  survive  the  onslaught  of  its 
adversaries,  it  is  only  because,  in  the 
deepest  of  him,  he  holds  it  for  absolute 


Introduction 

truth.  For  this  book  is  indeed  a  con- 
fession, a  naive,  outspoken,  unflinching 
description  of  all  that  passes  in  his  mind ; 
and  even  those  who  like  not  his  theories 
still  must  admit  that  this  mind  is  strangely- 
beautiful. 

There  have  been  many  columns  filled 
— and  doubtless  will  be  again — with  in- 
genious and  scholarly  attempts  to  place 
a  definitive  label  on  M.  Maeterlinck,  and 
his  talent ;  to  trace  his  thoughts  to  their 
origin,  clearly  denoting  the  authors  by 
whom  he  has  been  influenced ;  in  a  mea- 
sure to  predict  his  future,  and  accurately 
to  establish  the  place  that  he  fills  in 
the  hierarchy  of  genius.  With  all  this 
I  feel  that  I  have  no  concern.  Such 
speculations  doubtless  have  their  use  and 
serve  their  purpose.  I  shall  be  content 
if  I  can  impress  upon  those  who  may 
read  these  lines,  that  in  this  book 
the  man  is  himself,  of  untrammelled 
thought ;  a  man  possessed  of  the  rare 
faculty  of   seeing    beauty    in   all    things, 

and,    above    all,    in    truth ;    of   the    still 
xi 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

rarer  faculty  of  loving  all   things,   and, 
above' all,  life. 

Nor  is  this  merely  a  vague  and,  at 
bottom,  a  more  or  less  meaningless  state- 
ment. For,  indeed,  considering  this  essay 
only,  that  deals  with  wisdom  and  destiny, 
at  the  root  of  it — its  fundamental  prin- 
ciple, its  guiding,  inspiring  thought — is 
love.  "Nothing  is  contemptible  in  this 
world  save  only  scorn,"  he  says ;  and  for 
the  humble,  the  foolish,  nay,  even  the 
wicked,  he  has  the  same  love,  almost  the 
same  admiration,  as  for  the  sage,  the  saint, 
or  the  hero.  Everything  that  exists  fills 
him  with  wonder,  because  of  its  existence, 
and  of  the  mysterious  force  that  is  in  it ; 
and  to  him  love  and  wisdom  are  one, 
"joining  hands  in  a  circle  of  light."  For 
the  wisdom  that  holds  aloof  from  man- 
kind, that  deems  itself  a  thing  apart, 
select,  superior,  he  has  scant  sympathy — 
it  has  "  wandered  too  far  from  the  watch- 
fires  of  the  tribe."  But  the  wisdom  that 
is  human,  that  feeds  constantly  on  the 
desires,  the  feelings,   the  hopes   and  the 

xii 


Introduction 

fears  of  man,  must  needs  have  love  ever 
by  its  side ;  and  these  two,  marching 
together,  must  inevitably  find  themselves, 
soonen  or  later,  on  the  ways  that  lead  to 
goodness.  "There  comes  a  moment  in 
life,"  he  says,  "  when  moral  beauty  seems 
more  urgent,  more  penetrating,  than  in- 
tellectual beauty ;  when  all  that  the  mind 
has  treasured  must  be  bathed  in  the  great- 
ness of  soul,  lest  it  perish  in  the  sandy 
desert,  forlorn  as  the  river  that  seeks  in 
vain  for  the  sea."  But  for  unnecessary 
self-sacrifice,  renouncement,  abandonment 
of  earthly  joys,  and  all  such  "  parasitic 
virtues,"  he  has  no  commendation  or 
approval ;  feeling  that  man  was  created 
to  be  happy,  and  that  he  is  not  wise  who 
voluntarily  discards  a  happiness  to-day  for 
fear  lest  it  be  taken  from  him  on  the 
morrow.  "  Let  us  wait  till  the  hour  of 
sacrifice  sounds — till  then,  each  man  to 
his  work.  The  hour  will  sound  at  last — 
let  us  not  waste  our  time  in  seeking  it  on 
the  dial  of  life." 

In  this  book,  morality,  conduct,  life  are 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

surveyed  from  every  point  of  the  compass, 
but  from  an  eminence  always.  Austerity 
holds  no  place  in  his  philosophy ;  he  finds 
room  even  "  for  the  hours  that  babble 
aloud  in  their  wantonness."  But  all  those 
who  follow  him  are  led  by  smiling  wisdom 
to  the  heights  where  happiness  sits  en- 
throned between  goodness  and  love,  where 
virtue  rewards  itself  in  the  "  silence  that 
is  the  walled  garden  of  its  happiness." 

It  is  strange  to  turn  from  this  essay 
to  Serres  Chaudes  and  La  Princesse 
Maleine,  M.  Maeterlinck's  earliest  efforts 
— the  one  a  collection  of  vague  images 
woven  into  poetical  form,  charming, 
dreamy,  and  almost  meaningless ;  the 
other  a  youthful  and  very  remarkable 
effort  at  imitation.  In  the  plays  that 
followed  the  Princesse  Maleine  there  was 
the  same  curious,  wandering  sense  of, 
and  search  for,  a  vague  and  mystic 
beauty : 

"  That  fair  beauty  which  no  eye  can  see, 
Of  that  sweet  music  which  no  ear  can  measure." 


Introduction 

In  a  little  poem  of  his,  Et  sil  reve- 
nait^  the  last  words  of  a  dying  girl, 
forsaken  by  her  lover,  who  is  asked  by 
her  sister  what  shall  be  told  to  the  faith- 
less one,  should  he  ever  seek  to  know  of 
her  last  hours : 

"  Et  sMl  m'interroge  encore 
Sur  la  derni^re  heure  ?  — 
Dites  lui  que  j'ai  souri 
De  peur  qu'il  ne  pleure  .  .  .*' 

touch,  perhaps,  the  very  high-water  mark 
of  exquisite  simplicity  and  tenderness 
blent  with  matchless  beauty  of  expres- 
sion. Pelldas  et  Melisande  was  the  cul- 
minating point  of  this,  his  first,  period 
— a  simple,  pathetic  love-story  of  boy 
and  girl — love  that  was  pure  and  almost 
passionless.  It  was  followed  by  three 
little  plays — "  for  marionettes,"  he  de- 
scribes them  on  the  title-page ;  among 
them  being  La  Mort  de  Tintagiles, 
the  play  he  himself  prefers  of  all  that  he 
has  written.  And  then  came  a  curious 
change :  he  wrote  Aglavaine  et  Sely- 
sette.     The    setting    is    familiar   to    us : 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

the  sea-shore,  the  ruined  tower,  the  seat 
by  the  well ;  no  less  than  the  old  grand- 
mother and  little  Yssaline.  But  Agla- 
vaine  herself  is  strange  :  this  woman  who 
has  lived  and  suffered ;  this  queenly, 
majestic  creature,  calmly  conscious  of  her 
beauty  and  her  power ;  she  whose  over- 
powering, overwhelming  love  is  yet  deli- 
berate and  thoughtful.  The  complexities 
of  real  life  are  vaguely  hinted  at  here : 
instead  of  Golaud,  the  mediaeval,  tyran- 
nous husband,  we  have  Selysette,  the  meek, 
self-sacrificing  wife ;  instead  of  the  in- 
stinctive, unconscious  love  of  Pelleas  and 
Melisande,  we  have  great  burning  passion. 
But  this  play,  too,  was  only  a  stepping- 
stone — a  link  between  the  old  method 
and  the  new  that  is  to  follow.  For  there 
will  probably  be  no  more  plays  like 
PelUas  et  Mdlisande^  or  even  like  Agla- 
vaine  et  Selysette.  Real  men  and  women, 
real  problems  and  disturbance  of  life — 
it  is  these  that  absorb  him  now.  His 
next  play  will  doubtless  deal  with  a 
psychology  more  actual,  in  an  atmosphere 


Introduction 

less  romantic ;  and  the  old  familiar  scene 
of  wood,  and  garden,  and  palace  corridor 
will  be  exchanged  for  the  habitual  abode 
of  men. 

I  have  said  it  was  real  life  that  absorbed 
him  now,  and  yet  am  I  aware  that  what 
seems  real  to  him  must  still  appear  vague 
and  visionary  to  many.  It  is,  however, 
only  a  question  of  shifting  one's  point 
of  view,  or,  better  still,  of  enlarging  it. 
Material  success  in  life,  fame,  wealth — 
these  things  M.  Maeterlinck  passes  in- 
differently by.  There  are  certain  ideals 
that  are  dear  to  many  on  which  he  looks 
with  the  vague  wonder  of  a  child.  The 
happiness  of  which  he  dreams  is  an  inward 
happiness,  and  within  reach  of  successful 
and  unsuccessful  alike.  And  so  it  may 
well  be  that  those  content  to  buffet  with 
their  fellows  for  what  are  looked  on  as 
the  prizes  of  this  world,  will  still  write 
him  down  a  mere  visionary,  and  fail  to 
comprehend  him.  The  materialist  who 
complacently  defines  the  soul  as  the  "  in- 
tellect plus  the  emotions"  will  doubtless 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

turn  away  in  disgust  from  M.  Maeterlinck's 
constant  references  to  it  as  the  seat  of 
something  mighty,  mysterious,  inexhaust- 
ible in  life.  So,  too,  may  the  rigid 
follower  of  positive  religion,  to  whomx^ 
the  Deity  is  a  power  concerned  only  with 
the  judgment,  reward,  and  punishment  of 
men,  protest  at  his  saying  that  "God, 
who  must  be  at  least  as  high  as  the 
highest  thoughts  He  has  implanted  in  the 
best  of  men,  will  withhold  His  smile 
from  those  whose  sole  desire  has  been  to 
please  Him ;  and  they  only  who  have 
done  good  for  sake  of  good,  and  as 
though  He  existed  not ;  they  only  who 
have  loved  virtue  more  than  they  loved 
God  Himself,  shall  be  allowed  to  stand 
by  His  side."  But,  after  all,  the  genuine 
seeker  after  truth  knows  that  what  seemed— 
true  yesterday  is  to-day  discovered  to  be 
only  a  milestone  on  the  road;  and  all 
who  value  truth  will  be  glad  to  listen  to 
a  man  who,  differing  from  them  perhaps, 
yet  tells  them  what  seems  true  to  him. 
And    whereas  in   the   '*  Treasure   of   the 


Introduction 

Humble"  he  looked  on  life  through  a 
veil  of  poetry  and  dream,  here  he  stands 
among  his  fellow-men,  no  longer  trying 
to  "express  the  inexpressible,"  but,  in  all 
simplicity,  to  tell  them  what  he  sees. 

"Above  all,  let  us  never  forget  that 
an  act  of  goodness  is  in  itself  an  act  of- 
happiness.  It  is  the  flower  of  a  long 
inner  life  of  joy  and  contentment ;  it 
tells  of  peaceful  hours  and  days  on  the 
sunniest  heights  of  our  soul."  This 
thought  lies  at  the  root  of  his  whole 
philosophy  —  goodness,  happiness,  love, 
supporting  each  other,  intertwined,  re- 
warding each  other.  "Let  us  not  think 
virtue  will  crumble,  though  God  Him- 
self seem  unjust.  Where  could  the  virtue 
of  man  find  more  everlasting  foundation 
than  in  the  seeming  injustice  of  God  ^ " 
Strange  that  the  man  who  has  written 
these  words  should  have  spent  all  his 
school  life  at  a  Jesuit  college,  subjected 
to  its  severe,  semi  -  monastic  discipline ; 
compelled,  at  the  end  of  his  stay,  to 
go,  with  the  rest  of  his  fellows,  through 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

the  customary  period  of  "retreat,"  last- 
ing ten  days,  when  the  most  eloquent 
of  the  fathers  would,  one  after  the  other, 
deliver  sermons  terrific  to  boyish  imagi- 
nation, sermons  whose  unvarying  burden 
was  Hell  and  the  wrath  of  God — to  be 
avoided  only  by  becoming  a  Jesuit  priest. 
Out  of  the  eighteen  boys  in  the  "rhe- 
torique"  class,  eleven  eagerly  embraced 
this  chance  of  escape  from  damnation. 
As  for  M.  Maeterlinck  himself — fortu- 
nately a  day-boarder  only — one  can  fancy 
him  wandering  home  at  night,  along  the 
canal  banks,  in  the  silence  broken  only 
by  the  pealing  of  church  bells,  brooding 
over  these  mysteries  .  .  .  but  how  long 
a  road  must  the  man  have  travelled  who, 
having  been  taught  the  God  of  Fra 
Angelico,  himself  arrives  at  the  concep- 
tion of  a  "  God  who  sits  smiling  on  a 
mountain,  and  to  whom  our  gravest 
offences  are  only  as  the  naughtiness  of 
puppies  playing  on  the  hearth-rug." 

His    environment,    no    less    than    his 
schooling,  helped  to  give  a  mystic  tinge 


Introduction    ^"^**^:>''^^  ^- 

to  his  mind.  The  peasants  who  dwelt 
around  his  father's  house  always  possessed 
a  peculiar  fascination  for  him ;  he  would 
watch  them  as  they  sat  by  their  door- 
way, squatting  on  their  heels,  as  their 
custom  is — grave,  monotonous,  motion- 
less, the  smoke  from  their  pipes  almost 
the  sole  sign  of  life.  For  the  Flemish 
peasant  is  a  strangely  inert  creature,  his 
work  once  done — as  languid  and  lethargic 
as  the  canal  that  passes  by  his  door. 
There  was  one  cottage  into  which  the 
boy  would  often  peep  on  his  way  home 
from  school,  the  home  of  seven  brothers 
and  one  sister,  all  old,  toothless,  worn — 
working  together  in  the  daytime  at  their 
tiny  farm ;  at  night  sitting  in  the  gloomy 
kitchen,  lit  by  one  smoky  lamp  —  all 
looking  straight  before  them,  saying  not 
a  word ;  or  when,  at  rare  intervals,  a 
remark  was  made,  taking  it  up  each  in 
turn  and  solemnly  repeating  it,  with  per- 
haps the  slightest  variation  in  form.  It  was 
amidst  influences  such  as  these  that  his 
boyhood  was  passed,  almost  isolated  from 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

the  world,  brooding  over  lives  of  saints- 
and  mystics  at  the  same  time  that  he 
studied,  and  delighted  in,  Shakespeare 
and  the  Elizabethans,  Goethe  and  Heine. 
For  his  taste  has  been  catholic  always ; 
he  admires  Meredith  as  he  admires 
Dickens,  Hello  and  Pascal  no  less  than 
Schopenhauer.  And  it  is  this  catholicity, 
this  open  mind,  this  eager  search  for 
truth,  that  have  enabled  him  to  emerge 
from  the  mysticism  that  once  enwrapped 
him  to  the  clearer  daylight  of  actual  ex- 
istence ;  it  is  this  faculty  of  admiring  all 
that  is  admirable  in  man  and  in  life  that 
some  day,  perhaps,  may  take  him  very  far. 
It  will  surprise  many  who  picture  him 
as  a  mere  dreamy  decadent,  to  be  told 
that  he  is  a  man  of  abiding  and  abundant 
cheerfulness,  who  finds  happiness  in  the 
simplest  of  things.  The  scent  of  a  flower, 
the  flight  of  sea-gulls  around  a  cliff, 
a  cornfield  in  sunshine — these  stir  him 
to  strange  delight.  A  deed  of  bravery, 
nobility,  or  of  simple  devotion  ;  a 
mere    brotherly    act    of    kindness  ;    the 


Introduction 

unconscious  sacrifice  of  the  peasant  who 
toils  all  day  to  feed  and  clothe  his  children 
— these  awake  his  warm  and  instant  sym- 
pathy. And  with  him,  too,  it  is  as  with 
De  Quincey  when  he  says,  "  At  no  time 
of  my  life  have  I  been  a  person  to  hold 
myself  polluted  by  the  touch  or  approach 
of  any  creature  that  wore  a  human  shape"; 
and  more  than  one  unhappy  outcast,  con- 
demned by  the  stern  law  of  man,  has  been 
gladdened  by  his  ready  greeting  and  wel- 
come. But,  indeed,  all  this  may  be  read 
of  in  his  book — I  desired  but  to  make  it 
clear  that  the  book  is  truly  a  faithful  mirror 
of  the  man's  own  thoughts,  and  feelings, 
and  actions.  It  is  a  book  that  many 
will  love — all  those  who  suffer,  for  it 
will  lighten  their  suffering ;  all  those  who 
love,  for  it  will  teach  them  to  love  more 
deeply.  It  is  a  book  with  its  faults, 
doubtless,  as  every  book  must  be ;  but  it 
has  been  written  straight  from  the  heart, 
and  will  go  to  the  heart  of  many.  .  . 

ALFRED  SUTRO. 


WISDOM   AND   DESTINY 


§!• 


TN  this  book  there  will  often  be  men- 
^  tion  of  wisdom  and  destiny,  of  happi- 
ness, justice,  and  love.  There  may  seem 
to  be  some  measure  of  irony  in  thus 
calling  forth  an  intangible  happiness 
where  so  much  real  sorrow  prevails ; 
a  justice  that  may  well  be  ideal  in  the 
bosom  of  an  injustice,  alas  !  only  too 
material ;  a  love  that  eludes  the  grasp 
in  the  midst  of  palpable  hatred  and 
callousness.  The  moment  may  seem  but 
ill-chosen  for  leisurely  search,  in  the 
hidden  recess  of  man's  heart,  for  motives 
of  peace   and    tranquillity;   occasions  for 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

gladness,  uplifting,  and  love ;  reasons 
for  wonder  and  gratitude  —  seeing  that 
the  vast  bulk  of  mankind,  in  whose 
name  we  would  fain  lift  our  voice,  have 
not  even  the  time  or  assurance  to  drain 
to  the  dregs  the  misery  and  desolation 
of  life.  Not  to  them  is  it  given  to  linger 
over  the  inward  rejoicing,  the  profound 
consolation,  that  the  satisfied  thinker  has 
slowly  and  painfully  acquired,  that  he 
knows  how  to  prize.  Thus  has  it  often 
been  urged  against  moralists,  among  them 
Epictetus,  that  they  were  apt  to  concern 
themselves  with  none  but  the  wise  alone. 
In  this  reproach  is  some  truth,  as  some 
truth  there  must  be  in  every  reproach 
that  is  made.  And  indeed,  if  we  had 
only  the  courage  to  listen  to  the  sim- 
plest, the  nearest,  most  pressing  voice 
of  our  conscience,  and  be  deaf  to  all 
else,  it  were  doubtless  our  solitary 
duty   to    relieve    the   suffering    about    us 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

to  the  greatest  extent  in  our  power. 
It  were  incumbent  upon  us  to  visit  and 
nurse  the  poor,  to  console  the  afflicted ;  to 
found  model  factories,  surgeries,  dispen- 
saries, or  at  least  to  devote  ourselves,  as 
men  of  science  do,  to  wresting  from  nature 
the  material  secrets  which  are  most  essen- 
tial to  man.  But  yet,  were  the  world  at 
a  given  moment  to  contain  only  persons 
thus  actively  engaged  in  helping  each  other, 
and  none  venturesome  enough  to  dare 
snatch  leisure  for  research  in  other  direc- 
tions, then  could  this  charitable  labour 
not  long  endure ;  for  all  that  is  best  in 
the  good  that  at  this  day  is  being  done 
round  about  us,  was  conceived  in  the 
spirit  of  one  of  those  who  neglected, 
it  may  be,  many  an  urgent,  immediate 
duty  in  order  to  think,  to  commune  with 
themselves,  in  order  to  speak.  Does  it 
follow  that  they  did  the  best  that  was  to 
be  done  ^     To  such  a  question  as  this  who 

3 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

shall  dare  to  reply  ?  The  soul  that  is 
meekly  honest  must  ever  consider  the 
simplest,  the  nearest  duty  to  be  the 
best  of  all  things  it  can  do ;  but  yet 
were  there  cause  for  regret  had  all  men 
for  all  time  restricted  themselves  to  the 
duty  that  lay  nearest  at  hand.  In  each 
generation  some  men  have  existed  who 
held  in  all  loyalty  that  they  fulfilled  the 
duties  of  the  passing  hour  by  pondering 
on  those  of  the  hour  to  come.  Most 
thinkers  will  say  that  these  men  were 
right.  It  is  well  that  the  thinker  should 
give  his  thoughts  to  the  world,  though 
it  must  be  admitted  that  wisdom  befinds 
itself  sometimes  in  the  reverse  of  the 
sage's  pronouncement.  This  matters  but 
little,  however ;  for,  without  such  pro- 
nouncement, the  wisdom  had  not  stood 
revealed  ;  and  the  sage  has  accomplished 
his  duty. 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

§2. 

To-day  misery  is  the  disease  of  man- 
kind, as  disease  is  the  misery  of  man.  And 
even  as  there  are  physicians  for  disease, 
so  should  there  be  physicians  for  human 
misery.  But  can  the  fact  that  disease  is,  un- 
happily, only  too  prevalent,  render  it  wrong 
for  us  ever  to  speak  of  health  .?  which 
were  indeed  as  though,  in  anatomy — the 
physical  science  that  has  most  in  common 
with  morals — the  teacher  confined  himself 
exclusively  to  the  study  of  the  deformities 
that  greater  or  lesser  degeneration  will 
induce  in  the  organs  of  man.  We  have 
surely  the  right  to  demand  that  his  theo- 
ries be  based  on  the  healthy  and  vigorous 
body ;  as  we  have  also  the  right  to  demand 
that  the  moralist,  who  fain  would  see 
beyond  the  present  hour,  should  take  as 
his  standard  the  soul  that  is  happy,  or 
that  at  least  possesses   every  element   of 


Wisdom  and  Destiny- 
happiness,   save    only  the    necessary  con- 
sciousness. 

We  live  in  the  bosom  of  great  injustice  ; 
but  there  can  be,  I  imagine,  neither  cruelty 
nor  callousness  in  our  speaking,  at  times, 
as  though  this  injustice  had  ended,  else 
should  we  never  emerge  from  our  circle. 

It  is  imperative  that  there  should  be 
some  who  dare  speak,  and  think,  and  act 
as  though  all  men  were  happy ;  for  other- 
wise, when  the  day  comes  for  destiny  to 
throw  open  to  all  the  people's  garden  of 
the  promised  land,  what  happiness  shall 
the  others  find  there,  what  justice,  what 
beauty  or  love  ?  It  may  be  urged,  it  is 
true,  that  it  were  best,  first  of  all,  to 
consider  the  most  pressing  needs,  yet  is 
this  not  always  wisest ;  it  is  often  of 
better  avail  from  the  start  to  seek 
that  which  is  highest.  When  the  waters 
beleaguer  the  home  of  the  peasant  in 
Holland,  the  sea  or  the  neighbouring  river 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

having  swept  down  the  dyke  that  pro- 
tected the  country,  most  pressing  is  it 
then  for  the  peasant  to  safeguard  his 
cattle,  his  grain,  his  effects ;  but  wisest 
to  fly  to  the  top  of  the  dyke,  summoning 
those  who  live  with  him,  and  from  thence 
meet  the  flood,  and  do  battle.  Humanity 
up  to  this  day  has  been  like  an  invalid 
tossing  and  turning  on  his  couch  in 
search  of  repose ;  but  therefore  none  the 
less  have  words  of  true  consolation  come-- 
only  from  those  who  spoke  as  though 
man  were  freed  from  all  pain.  For, 
as  man  was  created  for  health,  so  was 
mankind  created  for  happiness;  and  to 
speak  of  its  misery  only,  though  that 
misery  be  everywhere  and  seem  everlast- 
ing, is  only  to  say  words  that  fall  lightly 
and  soon  are  forgotten.  Why  not  speak 
as  though  mankind  were  always  on  the  eve 
of  great  certitude,  of  great  joy  ?  Thither, 
in  truth,  is  man  led  by  his  instinct,  though 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

he  never  may  live  to  behold  the  long- 
wished-for  to-morrow.  It  is  well  to  be- 
lieve that  there  needs  but  a  little  more 
thought,  a  little  more  courage,  more  love, 
more  devotion  to  life,  a  little  more  eager- 
ness, one  day  to  fling  open  wide  the  portals 
of  joy  and  of  truth.  And  this  thing  may 
still  come  to  pass.  Let  us  hope  that  one 
day  all  mankind  will  be  happy  and  wise ; 
and  though  this  day  never  should  dawn, 
to  have  hoped  for  it  cannot  be  wrong. 
And  in  any  event,  it  is  helpful  to  speak  of 
happiness  to  those  who  are  sad,  that  thus 
at  least  they  may  learn  what  it  is  that 
happiness  means.  They  are  ever  inclined 
to  regard  it  as  something  beyond  them, 
extraordinary,  out  of  their  reach.  But  it 
all  who  may  count  themselves  happy 
were  to  tell,  very  simply,  what  it  was 
that  brought  happiness  to  them,  the 
others   would    see    that   between    sorrow 

and  joy  the  difference  is  but  as  between 
8 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

a  gladsome,  enlightened  acceptance  of  life 
and  a  hostile,  gloomy  submission;  between 
a  large  and  harmonious  conception  of  life, 
and  one  that  is  stubborn  and  narrow.  "  Is 
that  all  ?  "  the  unhappy  would  cry.  "  But 
we  too  have  within  us,  then,  the  elements  - 
of  this  happiness."  Surely  you  have 
them  within  you !  There  lives  not  a 
man  but  has  them,  those  only  excepted 
upon  whom  great  physical  calamity  has 
fallen.  But  speak  not  lightly  of  this 
happiness.  There  is  no  other.  He  is 
the  happiest  man  who  best  understands - 
his  happiness ;  for  he  is  of  all  men 
most  fully  aware  that  it  is  only  the  lofty 
idea,  the  untiring,  courageous,  human 
idea,  that  separates  gladness  from  sorrow. 
Of  this  idea  it  is  helpful  to  speak,  and 
as  often  as  may  be ;  not  with  the  view 
of  imposing  our  own  idea  upon  others, 
but  in  order  that  they  who  may  listen 
shall,  little  by  little,  conceive  the  desire 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

to  possess  an  idea  of  their  own.  For  in 
no  two  men  is  it  the  same.  The  one 
that  you  cherish  may  well  bring  no 
comfort  to  me ;  nor  shall  all  your 
eloquence  touch  the  hidden  springs  of 
my  life.  Needs  must  I  acquire  my-4 
own,  in  myself,  by  myself;  but  you  un- 
consciously make  this  the  easier  for  me, 
by  telling  of  the  idea  that  is  yours.  It 
may  happen  that  I  shall  find  solace  in 
that  which  brings  sorrow  to  you,  and 
that  which  to  you  speaks  of  gladness 
may  be  fraught  with  affliction  for  me. 
But  no  matter ;  into  my  grief  will  enter 
all  that  you  saw  of  beauty  and  comfort, 
and  into  my  joy  there  will  pass  all  that 
was  great  in  your  sadness,  if  indeed  my 
joy  be  on  the  same  plane  as  your  sadness. 
It  behoves  us,  the  first  thing  of  all,  to 
prepare  in  our  soul  a  place  of  some  lofti- 
ness, where  this  idea  may  be  lodged ;  as 
the   priests  of  ancient  religions  laid  the  — 


lO 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

mountain  peak  bare,  and  cleared  it  of 
thorn  and  of  root  for  the  fire  to  descend 
from  heaven.  There  may  come  to  us  any 
day,  from  the  depths  of  the  planet  Mars, 
the  infallible  formula  of  happiness,  con- 
veyed in  the  final  truth  as  to  the  aim  and 
the  government  of  the  universe.  Such  a 
formula  could  only  bring  change  or  ad- 
vancement unto  our  spiritual  life  in  the 
degree  of  the  desire  and  expectation  of 
advancement  in  which  we  might  long  have 
been  living.  The  formula  would  be  the 
same  for  all  men,  yet  would  each  one 
benefit  only  in  the  proportion  of  the  eager- 
ness, purity,  unselfishness,  knowledge,  that 
he  had  stored  up  in  his  soul.  All  morality, 
all  study  of  justice  and  happiness,  should 
truly  be  no  more  than  preparation,  pro- 
vision on  the  vastest  scale — a  way  of  gain- 
ing experience,  a  stepping-stone  laid  down 
for  what  is  to  follow.  Surely,  desirable 
day  of  all   days   were    the   one  when    at 


II 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

last  we  should  live  in  absolute  truth,  in 
immovable  logical  certitude ;  but  in  the 
meantime  it  is  given  us  to  live  in  a  truth 
n;iore  important  still,  the  truth  of  our 
soul  and  our  character ;  and  some  wise 
men  have  proved  that  this  life  can 
be  lived  in  the  midst  of  gravest  material 
errors. 

§3- 

Is  it  idle  to  speak  of  justice,  happiness, 
morals,  and  all  things  connected  therewith, 
before  the  hour  of  science  has  sounded — 
that  definitive  hour,  wherein  all  that  we 
cling  to  may  crumble  ?  The  darkness 
that  hangs  over  our  life  will  then,  it 
may  be,  pass  away ;  and  much  that  we  do 
in  the  darkness  shall  be  otherwise  done  in 
the  light.  But  nevertheless  do  the  essen- 
tial events  of  our  moral  and  physical  life 
come  to  pass  in  the  darkness  as  completely. 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

as  inevitably,  as  they  would  in  the  light. 
Our  life  must  be  lived  while  we  wait  for 
the  word  that  shall  solve  the  enigma,  and 
the  happier,  the  nobler  our  life,  the  more 
vigorous  shall  it  become ;  and  we  shall 
have  the  more  courage,  clear-sightedness, 
boldness,  to  seek  and  desire  the  truth. 
And  happen  what  may,  the  time  can  be  :  y^.. 
never  ill-spent  that  we  give  to  acquiring >/ 1  ,  , 
some  knowledge  of  self.  Whatever  our  '^\ 
relation  may  become  to  this  world  in  which 
we  have  being,  in  our  soul  there  will  yet 
be  more  feelings,  more  passions,  more 
secrets  unchanged  and  unchanging,  than 
there  are  stars  that  connect  with  the  earth, 
or  mysteries  fathomed  by  science.  In  the 
bosom  of  truth  undeniable,  truth  all  ab- 
sorbing, man  shall  doubtless  soar  upwards ; 
but  still,  as  he  rises,  still  shall  his  soul  un- 
erringly guide  him ;  and  the  grander  the 
truth  of  the  universe,  the  more  solace  and 
peace  it  may  bring,  the  more  shall  the 
13 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

problems   of  justice,  morality,   happiness, 

love,  present  to  the  eyes  of  all  men  the 

semblance  they  ever  have  worn  in  the  eyes 

of  the  thinker. 

We   should   live    as   though    we    were 

always  on  the  eve  of  the  great  revelation ; 

and  we   should   be  ready  with  welcome, 

with   warmest    and    keenest    and    fullest, 

most    heartfelt    and    intimate     welcome. 

And  whatever  the  form  it  shall  take  on 

the  day  that  it  comes  to  us,  the  best  way 

of  all  to  prepare  for  its  fitting  reception  is 

to  crave  for  it  now,  to  desire  it  as  lofty,  as 

perfect,  as  vast,  as  ennobling  as  the  soul 

can    conceive.      It    must    needs    be    more 

beautiful,  glorious,  and    ample   than    the 

best    of  our  hopes ;    for,  where  it  differ 

therefrom  or  even  frustrate  them,  it  must 

of  necessity  bring  something  nobler,  loftier, 

nearer  to  the  nature  of  man,  for  it  will 

bring  us  the  truth.     To  man,  though  all 

that  he  value  go  under,  the  intimate  truth 
14 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

of  the  universe  must  be  wholly,  pre- 
eminently admirable.  And  though,  on 
the  day  it  unveils,  our  meekest  desires 
turn  to  ashes  and  float  on  the  wind,  still 
shall  there  linger  within  us  all  we  havcv^ 
prepared;  and  the  admirable  will  enter 
our  soul,  the  volume  of  its  waters  being 
as  the  depth  of  the  channel  that  our 
expectation  has  fashioned. 

§4. 

Is  it  necessary  that  we  should  conceive 
ourselves  to  be  superior  to  the  universe  ? 
Our  reason  may  prove  what  it  will  :  our 
reason  is  only  a  feeble  ray  that  has  issued 
from  Nature ;  a  tiny  atom  of  that  whole 
which  Nature  alone  shall  judge.  Is  it 
fitting  that  the  ray  of  light  should  desire 
to  alter  the  lamp  whence  it  springs  ? 

That  loftiness  within  us,  from  whose 
summit  we  venture  to  pass  judgment  on 
15 


-ft 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

the  totality  of  life,  to  absolve  or  condemn 
it,  is  doubtless  the  merest  pin-prick,  visible 
to  our  eye  alone,  on  the  illimitable  sphere 
of  life.  It  is  wise  to  think  and  to  act 
as  though  all  that  happened  to  man  were 
all  that  man  most  required.  It  is  not  long 
ago — to  cite  only  one  of  the  problems 
that  the  instinct  of  our  planet  is  invited 
to  solve — that  a  scheme  was  on  foot  to 
inquire  of  the  thinkers  of  Europe  whether 
it  should  rightly  be  held  as  a  gain  or  a 
loss  to  mankind  if  an  energetic,  strenuous, 
persistent  race,  which  some,  through  pre- 
judice doubtless,  still  regard  as  inferior  to 
the  Aryan  in  qualities  of  heart  and  of  soul 
—if  the  Jews,  in  a  word,  were  to  vanish 
from  the  face  of  the  earth,  or  to  acquire 
preponderance  there.  I  am  satisfied  that 
the  sage  might  answer,  without  laying 
himself  open  to  the  charge  of  indifference 
or  undue  resignation,  "  In  what  comes  to 

pass    will    be    happiness."      Many   things 
i6 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

happen  that  seem  unjust  to  us ;  but  of  all 
the  achievements  of  reason  there  has  been 
none  so  helpful  as  the  discovery  of  the 
loftier  reason  that  underlies  the  misdeeds  ^ 
of  nature.  It  is  from  the  slow  and  gradual 
vindication  of  the  unknown  force  that  we 
deemed  at  first  to  be  pitiless,  that  our 
moral  and  physical  life  has  derived  its 
chief  prop  and  support.  If  a  race  dis- 
appears that  conforms  with  our  every 
ideal,  it  will  be  only  because  our  ideal 
still  falls  short  of  the  grand  ideal,  which 
is,  as  we  have  said,  the  intimate  truth  of 
the  universe. 

Our  own  experience  has  taught  us  that 
even  in  this  world  of  reality  there  exist 
dreams  and  desires,  thoughts  and  feelings 
of  beauty,  of  justice,  and  love,  that  are  of 
the  noblest  and  loftiest.  And  if  there  be 
any  that  shrink  from  the  test  of  reality 
— in  other  words,  from  the  mysterious, 
nameless  power  of  life — it  follows   that 

17  B 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

these  must  be  different,  but  not  that 
their  beauty  is  less,  or  their  vastness,  or 
power  to  console.  Till  reality  confront 
us,  it  is  well,  it  may  be,  to  cherish  ideals 
that  we  hold  to  surpass  it  in  beauty ; 
but  once  face  to  face  with  reality,  then 
must  the  ideal  flame  that  has  fed  on 
our  noblest  desires  be  content  to  throw 
faithful  light  on  the  less  fragile,  less 
tender  beauty  of  the  mighty  mass  that 
crushes  these  desires.  Nor  does  this 
seem  to  me  to  imply  a  mere  drowsy 
fatalism,  or  servile  acquiescence,  or  op- 
timism shrinking  from  action.  The  sage 
no  doubt  must  many  a  time  forfeit 
some  measure  of  the  blind,  the  head- 
strong, fanatical  zeal  that  has  enabled 
some  men,  whose  reason  was  fettered 
and  bound,  to  achieve  results  that  are 
nigh  superhuman ;  but  therefore  none 
the  less  is  it  certain  that  no  man  of 
upright  soul   should  go  forth   in  search 


Wisdom   and  Destiny 

of  illusion  or  blindness,  of  zeal  or  vigour, 
in  a  region  inferior  to  that  of  his  noblest 
hours.  To  do  our  true  duty  in  life,  it 
must  ever  be  done  with  the  aid  of  all 
that  is  highest  in  our  soul,  highest  in 
the  truth  that  is  ours.  And  even  though 
it  be  permissible  at  times  in  actual,  every- 
day life  to  compromise  with  events,  and 
not  follow  impulse  to  the  ruthless  end — 
as  did  St.  Just,  for  instance,  who  in  his 
admirable  and  ardent  desire  for  universal 
peace,  happiness,  justice,  in  all  good  faith 
sent  thousands  to  the  scaffold — in  the  life 
of  thought  it  is  our  unvarying  duty  to 
pursue  our  thought  right  to  the  end. 

Again,  the  knowledge  that  our  actions 
still  await  the  seal  of  final  truth  can  deter 
from  action  those  only  who  would  have  re- 
mained no  less  inert  had  no  such  knowledge 
been  theirs.  Thought  that  rises  encourages 
where  it  disheartens.  And  to  those  of 
a  loftier  vision,  prepared  in  advance  to 
19 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

admire  the  truth  that  will  nullify  all  they 
have  done,  it  seems  only  natural  still  to 
endeavour  with  all  might  and  main  to 
enhance  what  yet  may  be  termed  the 
justice,  the  beauty,  the  reason  of  this  our 
earth.  They  know  that  to  penetrate 
deeper,  to  understand,  to  respect— all  this 
is  enhancement.  Above  all,  they  have 
faith  in  *'  the  idea  of  the  universe."  They 
are  satisfied  that  every  effort  that  tends 
to  improvement  approaches  the  secret  in- 
tention of  life ;  they  are  taught  by  the 
failure  of  their  noblest  endeavours,  by  the 
resistance  of  this  mighty  world,  to  dis- 
cover anew  fresh  reasons  for  wonder,  for 
ardour,  for  hope. 

As  you  climb  up  a  mountain  towards 
nightfall,  the  trees  and  the  houses,  the 
steeple,  the  fields  and  the  orchards,  the 
road,  and  even  the  river,  will  gradually 
dwindle  and  fade,  and  at  last  disappear 
in  the  gloom  that  steals  over  the  valley. 


20 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

But  the  threads  of  light  that  shine  from 
the  houses  of  men  and  pierce  through 
the  blackest  of  nights,  these  shine  on 
undimmed.  And  every  step  that  you 
take  to  the  summit  reveals  but  more 
lights,  and  more,  in  the  hamlets  asleep  at 
your  foot.  For  light,  though  so  fragile,  — 
is  perhaps  the  one  thing  of  all  that  yields 
naught  of  itself  as  it  faces  immensity. 
Thus  it  is  with  our  moral  light  too,  when 
we  look  upon  life  from  some  slight  ele- 
vation. It  is  well  that  reflection  should 
teach  us  to  disburden  our  soul  of  base 
passions ;  but  it  should  not  discourage, 
or  weaken,  our  humblest  desire  for  justice, 
for  truth,  and  for  love. 

Whence  comes  this  rule  that  I  thus 
propound  ?  Nay,  I  know  not  myself.  To 
me  it  seems  helpful  and  requisite;  nor 
could  I  give  reasons  other  than  spring 
from  the  feelings  alone.  Such  reasons, 
however,   at    times    should    by  no  means 


Wisdom  and  Destiny- 
be  treated  too  lightly.  If  I  should  ever 
attain  a  summit  whence  this  law  seemed 
useless  to  me,  I  would  listen  to  the  secret 
instinct  bidding  me  not  linger,  but  climb 
on  still  higher,  till  its  usefulness  should 
once  again  be  clearly  apparent  to  me. 

§5- 

This  general  introduction  over,  let  us 
speak  more  particularly  of  the  influence 
that  wisdom  can  have  upon  destiny.  And, 
the  occasion  presenting  itself  here,  I  shall 
do  well  perhaps  to  state  now,  at  the  very 
beginning,  that  in  this  book  it  will  be 
vain  to  seek  for  any  rigorous  method. 
For  indeed  it  is  but  composed  of  oft- 
interrupted  thoughts,  that  entwine  them- 
selves with  more  or  less  system  around  two 
or  three  subjects.  Its  object  is  not  to 
convince ;  there  is  nothing  it  professes  to 
prove.     Besides,  in  life  books  have  by  no 

22 


Wisdom  and  Destiny- 
means  the  importance  that  writers  and 
readers  claim  for  them.  We  should  re- 
gard them  as  did  a  friend  of  mine,  a 
man  of  great  wisdom,  who  listened  one 
day  to  the  recital  of  the  last  moments  of 
the  Emperor  Antoninus  Pius.  Antoninus 
Pius — who  was  perhaps  truly  the  best 
and  most  perfect  man  this  world  has 
known,  better  even  than  Marcus  Aurelius; 
for  in  addition  to  the  virtues,  the  kind- 
ness, the  deep  feeling  and  wisdom  of  his 
adopted  son,  he  had  something  of  greater 
virility  and  energy,  of  simpler  happiness, 
something  more  real,  spontaneous,  closer 
to  everyday  life — Antoninus  Pius  lay  on 
his  bed,  awaiting  the  summons  of  death, 
his  eyes  dim  with  unbidden  tears,  his 
limbs  moist  with  the  pale  sweat  of  agony. 
At  that  moment  there  entered  the  captain 
of  the  guard,  come  to  demand  the  watch- 
word, such  being  the  custom.    ^qManimi- 

tas — evenness  of  mind^  he  replied,  as  he 
23 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

turned  his  head  to  the  eternal  shadow. 
It  is  well  that  we  should  love  and 
admire  that  word,  said  my  friend.  But 
better  still,  he  added,  to  have  it  in  us  to 
sacrifice,  unknown  to  others,  unknown 
even  to  ourselves,  the  time  fortune 
accords  us  wherein  to  admire  it,  in 
favour  of  the  first  little  useful,  living 
deed  that  the  same  fortune  incessantly 
offers  to  every  willing  heart. 

§6. 

**  It    was    doubtless   the    will    of   their 

destiny    that     men    and     events    should 

oppress  them   whithersoever  they  went," 

said  an  author  of  the  heroes  of  his  book. 

Thus   it    is  with   the   majority  of  men ; 

indeed,  with  all  those  who  have  not  yet 

learned   to    distinguish    between    exterior 

and  moral  destiny.     They  are  like  a  little 

bewildered  stream  that  I  chanced  to  espy 
24 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

one  evening  as  I  stood  on  the  hillside. 
I  beheld  it  far  down  In  the  valley,  stagger- 
ing, struggling,  climbing,  falling  :  blindly 
groping  its  way  to  the  great  lake  that 
slumbered,  the  other  side  of  the  forest, 
in  the  peace  of  the  dawn.  Here  it  was 
a  block  of  basalt  that  forced  the  streamlet 
to  wind  round  and  about  four  times; 
there,  the  roots  of  a  hoary  tree  ;  further 
on  still,  the  mere  recollection  of  an 
obstacle  now  gone  for  ever  thrust  it 
back  to  its  source,  bubbling  in  impotent 
fury,  divided  for  all  time  from  its  goal 
and  its  gladness.  But,  in  another  direc- 
tion, at  right  angles  almost  to  the  dis- 
traught, unhappy,  useless  stream,  a  force 
superior  to  the  force  of  instinct  had  traced 
a  long,  greenish  canal,  calm,  peaceful,  de- 
liberate ;  that  flowed  steadily  across  the 
country,  across  the  crumbling  stones, 
across  the  obedient  forest,  on  its  clear 
and  unerring,  unhurrying  way  from  its 
25 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

distant  source  on  the  horizon  to  the  same 
tranquil,  shining  lake.  And  I  had  at  my 
feet  before  me  the  image  of  the  two  great 
destinies  offered  to  man. 


^7- 

Side  by  side  with  those  whom  men  and 
events  oppress,  there  are  others  who  have 
within  them  some  kind  of  inner  force, - 
which  has  its  will  not  only  with  men,  but 
even  with  the  events  that  surround  them. 
Of  this  force  they  are  fully  aware,  and 
indeed  it  is  nothing  more  than  a  know- 
ledge of  self  that  has  far  overstepped  the 
ordinary  limits  of  consciousness. 

Our   consciousness    is    our   home,    our 

refuge    from    the    caprice    of    fate,    our 

centre    of  happiness    and   strength.     But 

these  things  have  been  said  so  often  that 

we  need  do  no  more  than  refer  to  them, 

and  indicate  them  as  our  starting-point. 
26 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

Ennoblement  comes  to  man  in  the  degree 
that  his  consciousness  quickens,  and  the 
nobler  the  man  has  become,  the  pro- 
founder  must  consciousness  be.  Admir- 
able exchange  takes  place  here ;  and  even 
as  love  is  insatiable  in  its  craving  for  love, 
so  is  consciousness  insatiable  in  its  craving 
for  growth,  for  moral  uplifting;  and  moral 
uplifting  for  ever  is  yearning  for  con- 
sciousness. 


But  this  knowledge  of  self  is  only  too 

often  regarded  as  implying  no  more  than 

a   knowledge    of    our    defects    and    our 

qualities,  whereas   it  does  indeed  extend 

infinitely  further,  to  mysteries  vastly  more 

helpful.      To    know    oneself    in    repose 

suffices  not,  nor  does  it  suffice  to  know 

oneself  in  the  past  or  the  present.     Those 

within  whom  lies  the  force  that  I  speak 

of  know  themselves    in  the   future   too. 
27 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

Consciousness  of  self  with  the  greatest  of 
men  implies  consciousness  up  to  a  point 
of  their  star  or  their  destiny.  They  are 
aware  of  some  part  of  their  future,  be- 
cause they  have  already  become  part  of 
this  future.  They  have  faith  in  them-  - 
selves,  for  they  know  in  advance  how 
events  will  be  received  in  their  soul. 
The  event  in  itself  is  pure  water  that 
flows  from  the  pitcher  of  fate,  and  seldom 
has  it  either  savour  or  perfume  or  colour. 
But  even  as  the  soul  may  be  wherein  it 
seeks  shelter,  so  will  the  event  become 
joyous  or  sad,  become  tender  or  hateful, 
become  deadly  or  quick  with  life.  To 
those  round  about  us  there  happen  in- 
cessant and  countless  adventures,  whereof 
every  one,  it  would  seem,  contains  a  germ 
of  heroism  ;  but  the  adventure  passes  away, 
and  heroic  deed  is  there  none.  But  when 
Jesus  Christ  met  the  Samaritan,  met  a  few  v 

children,  an  adulterous  woman,  then  did 
28 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

humanity  rise  three  times  in  succession  to 
the  level  of  God. 


It  might  almost  be  said  that  there 
happens  to  men  only  that  they  de- 
sire. It  is  true  that  on  certain  external 
events  our  influence  is  of  the  feeblest, 
but  we  have  all-powerful  action  on  that 
which  these  events  shall  become  in  our- 
selves— in  other  words,  on  their  spiritual 
part,  on  what  is  radiant,  undying  within 
them.  There  are  thousands  of  men  within 
whom  this  spiritual  part,  that  is  craving 
for  birth  in  every  misfortune,  or  love, 
or  chance  meeting,  has  known  not  one 
moment  of  life — these  men  pass  away 
like  a  straw  on  the  stream.  And  others 
there  are  within  whom  this  immortal 
part   absorbs   all ;    these  arc    like    islands 

that  have  sprung   up  in    the   ocean ;    for 

29 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

they  have  found  immovable  anchorage, 
whence  they  issue  commands  that  their 
destiny  needs  must  obey.  The  life  of 
most  men  will  be  saddened  or  lightened 
by  the  thing  that  may  chance  to  befall 
them — in  the  men  whom  I  speak  of, 
whatever  may  happen  is  lit  up  by  their  ^ 
inward  life.  When  you  love,  it  is  not 
your  love  that  forms  part  of  your  destiny  ; 
but  the  knowledge  of  self  that  you  will 
have  found,  deep  down  in  your  love — 
this  it  is  that  will  help  to  fashion  your 
life.  If  you  have  been  deceived,  it  is  not 
the  deception  that  matters,  but  the  for- 
giveness whereto  it  gave  birth  in  your 
soul,  and  the  loftiness,  wisdom,  complete- 
ness of  this  forgiveness  —  by  these  shall 
your  life  be  steered  to  destiny's  haven  of 
brightness  and  peace ;  by  these  shall  your 
eyes  see  more  clearly  than  if  all  men 
had  ever  been  faithful.  But  if,  by  this 
act  of  deceit,  there  have  come  not  more 
30 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

simpleness,  loftier  faith,  wider  range  to 
your  love,  then  have  you  been  deceived 
in  vain,  and  may  truly  say  nothing  has 
happened. 


S  lo. 

Let  us  always  remember  that  nothing 
befalls  us  that  is  not  of  the  nature  of 
ourselves.  There  comes  no  adventure  but 
wears  to  our  soul  the  shape  of  our  every- 
day thoughts;  and  deeds  of  heroism  are 
but  offered  to  those  who,  for  many  long 
years,  have  been  heroes  in  obscurity  and 
silence.  And  whether  you  climb  up  the 
mountain  or  go  down  the  hill  to  the 
valley,  whether  you  journey  to  the  end 
of  the  world  or  merely  walk  round  your 
house,  none  but  yourself  shall  you  meet 
on  the  highway  of  fate.  If  Judas  go  forth 
to-night,  it  is  towards  Judas  his  steps 
will  tend,  nor  will  chance  for  betrayal  be 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

lacking  ;  but  let  Socrates  open  his  door,  he 
shall  find  Socrates  asleep  on  the  threshold 
before  him,  and  there  will  be  occasion  for 
wisdom.  Our  adventures  hover  around 
us  like  bees  round  the  hive  when  prepar- 
ing to  swarm.  They  wait  till  the  mother- 
idea  has  at  last  come  forth  from  our  soul, 
and  no  sooner  has  she  appeared  than  they 
all  come  rushing  towards  her.  Be  false, 
and  falsehoods  will  haste  to  you  ;  love, 
and  adventures  will  flock  to  you,  throb- 
bing- with  love.  They  seem  to  be  all  on 
the  watch  for  the  signal  we  hoist  from 
within  :  and  if  the  soul  grow  wiser  towards 
evening,  the  sorrow  will  grow  wiser  too 
that  the  soul  had  fashioned  for  itself  in 
the  morning. 

§11. 

No  great  inner  event  befalls  those  who 

summon   it  not ;   and  yet   is  there  germ 

of    great    inner   event    in    the    smallest 
32 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

occurrence  of  life.  But  events  such  as  these 
are  apportioned  by  justice,  and  to  each 
man  is  given  of  the  spoil  in  accord  with 
his  merits.  We  become  that  which  we 
discover  in  the  sorrows  and  joys  that  befall 
us  ;  and  the  least  expected  caprices  of  fate 
soon  mould  themselves  on  our  thoughts. 
It  is  in  our  past  that  destiny  finds  all  her 
weapons,  her  vestments,  her  jewels.  Were 
the  only  son  of  Thersites  and  Socrates  to 
die  the  same  day,  Socrates'  grief  would  in 
no  way  resemble  the  grief  of  Thersites. 
Misfortune  or  happiness,  it  seems,  must 
be  chastened  ere  it  knock  at  the  door  of 
the  sage ;  but  only  by  stooping  low  can  it 
enter  the  commonplace  soul. 

As  we  become  wiser  we   escape  some 

of  our  instinctive  destinies.     There  is  in 

us    all    sufficient    desire    for    wisdom    to 
33  c 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

transform  into  consciousness  most  of  the 
hazards  of  life.  And  all  that  has  thus 
been  transformed  can  belong  no  more  to 
the  hostile  powers.  A  sorrow  your  soul  ^- 
has  changed  into  sweetness,  to  indulgence 
or  patient  smiles,  is  a  sorrow  that  shall 
never  return  without  spiritual  ornament ; 
and  a  fault  or  defect  you  have  looked  in 
the  face  can  harm  you  no  more,  or  even 
be  harmful  to  others. 

Instinct  and  destiny  are  for  ever  confer- 
ring together ;  they  support  one  another, 
and  rove,  hand  in  hand,  round  the  man 
who  is  not  on  his  guard.  And  whoever 
is  able  to  curb  the  blind  force  of  instinct 
within  him,  is  able  to  curb  the  force  of 
external  destiny  also.  He  seems  to  create 
some  kind  of  sanctuary,  whose  inviolability  ^ 
will  be  in  the  degree  of  his  wisdom  ;  and 
the  consciousness  he  has  acquired  becomes 
the    centre    of   a    circle    of   light,  within 

which  the    passer-by  is  secure    from  the 
34 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

caprice  of  fate.  Had  Jesus  Christ  or 
Socrates  dwelt  in  Agamemnon's  palace 
among  the  Atrides,  then  had  there  been  no 
Oresteia ;  nor  would  CEdipus  ever  have 
dreamed  of  destroying  his  sight  if  they 
had  been  tranquilly  seated  on  the  threshold 
of  Jocasta's  abode.  Fatality  shrinks  back 
abashed  from  the  soul  that  has  more 
than  once  conquered  her ;  there  are  certain 
disasters  she  dare  not  send  forth  when  this 
soul  is  near ;  and  the  sage,  as  he  passes  by, 
intervenes  in  numberless  tragedies. 

§  13- 

The  mere  presence  of  the  sage  suffices 

to  paralyse  destiny;  and  of  this  we  find 

proof  in  the  fact  that  there  exists  scarce  a 

drama  wherein  a  true  sage  appears ;  when 

such  is  the  case,  the  event  needs  must  halt 

before  reaching  bloodshed  and  tears.     Not 

only  is  there  no  drama  wherein  sage  is  in 
35 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

conflict  with  sage,  but  indeed  there  are 
very  few  whose  action  revolves  round  a 
sage.  And  truly,  can  we  imagine  that  an 
event  shall  turn  into  tragedy  between  men 
who  have  earnestly  striven  to  gain  know- 
ledge of  self?  But  the  heroes  of  famous 
tragedies  do  not  question  their  souls  pro- 
foundly; and  it  follows  therefrom  that  the 
beauty  the  tragic  poet  presents  is  only  a 
captive  thing,  is  fettered  with  chains ;  for 
were  his  heroes  to  soar  to  the  height  the 
real  hero  would  gain,  their  weapons  would 
fall  to  the  ground,  and  the  drama  itself 
become  peace — the  peace  of  enlighten- 
ment. It  is  only  in  the  Passion  of  Christ, 
the  Phaedo,  Prometheus,  the  murder  of 
Orpheus,  the  sacrifice  of  Antigone — it  is 
only  in  these  that  we  find  the  drama  of  the 
sage,  the  solitary  drama  of  wisdom.  But 
elsewhere  it  is  rarely  indeed  that  tragic 
poets  will  allow  a  sage  to  appear  on  the 

scene,  though  it  be  for  an  instant.     They 
36 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

are  afraid  of  a  lofty  soul ;  for  they  know 
that  events  are  no  less  afraid,  and  that  a 
murder  committed  in  the  presence  of  the 
sage  seems  quite  other  than  the  murder 
committed  in  the  presence  of  those  whose 
soul  still  knows  not  itself.  Had  CEdipus 
possessed  the  inner  refuge  that  Marcus  ^ 
Aurelius,  for  instance,  had  been  able  to 
erect  in  himself — a  refuge  whereto  he 
could  fly  at  all  times — had  he  only  ac- 
quired some  few  of  the  certitudes  open  to 
every  thinker — what  could  destiny  then 
have  done  ?  What  would  she  have  en- 
trapped in  her  snares  ?  Would  they  have 
contained  aught  besides  the  pure  light  that 
streams  from  the  lofty  soul,  as  it  grows 
more  beautiful  still  in  misfortune  ? 

But  where  is  the  sage  in  CEdipus  ?  Is 
it  Tiresias  ?  He  reads  the  future,  but 
knows  not  that  goodness  and  forgiveness 
are  lords  of  the  future.     He  knows  the 

truth  of  the  gods,  but  not  the  truth  of 
37 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

mankind.  He  ignores  the  wisdom  that 
takes  misfortune  to  her  arms  and  would  fain 
give  it  of  her  strength.  Truly  they  who 
know  still  know  nothing  if  the  strength 
of  love  be  not  theirs ;  for  the  true  sage 
is  not  he  who  sees,  but  he  who,  seeing 
the  furthest,  has  the  deepest  love  for  man- 
kind. He  who  sees  without  loving  is  only 
straining  his  eyes  in  the  darkness. 

§  14. 

We  are  told  that  the  famous  tragedies 

show  us  the  struggle  of  man  against  Fate. 

I    believe,  on  the    contrary,  that  scarcely 

a  drama  exists  wherein  fatality  truly  does 

reign.     Search  as  I  may,  I  cannot  find  one 

which  exhibits  the  hero  in  conflict  with 

destiny  pure  and  simple.     For  indeed  it 

is  never  destiny  that  he  attacks ;  it  is  with 

wisdom  he  is  always  at  war.     Real  fatality 

exists  only  in  certain  external  disasters — as 
38 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

disease,  accident,  the  sudden  death  of  those 
we  love ;  but  inner  fatality  there  is  none. 
Wisdom  has  will-power  sufficient  to  rec- 
tify all  that  does  not  deal  death  to  the 
body;  it  will  even  at  times  invade  the 
narrow  domain  of  external  fatality.  It  is 
true  that  we  must  have  amassed  con- 
siderable and  patient  treasure  within  us 
for  this  will-power  to  find  the  resources 
it  needs. 

§15- 

The    statue    of    destiny    casts    a    huge 

shadow  over  the  valley,  which  it  seems  to 

enshroud  in  gloom ;  but  this  shadow  has 

clearest   outline   for  such    as    look    down 

from  the  mountain.     We  are  born,  it  may 

be,  with  the  shadow  upon  us  ;  but  to  many 

men  is  it  granted  to  emerge  from  beneath 

it ;  and  even  though  infirmity  or  weakness 

keep  us,  till  death,  confined  in  these  sombre 

regions,  still  can  we  fly  thence  at  times  on 
39 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

the  wings  of  our  hopes  and  our  thoughts. 

There  may  well  be  some  few  over  whom 

Fate  exerts  a  more  tyrannous  power,  by 

virtue  of  instinct,  heredity  and  other  laws 

more  relentless  still,  more  profound  and 

obscure  ;  but  even  when  we  writhe  beneath 

unmerited,  crushing  misfortune;  even  when 

fortune  compels  us  to   do   the  thing  we 

should  never  have  done,  had  our  hands 

been  free  ;  even  then,  when  the  deed  has 

been  done,  the  misfortune  has  happened,. 

it  still  rests  with  ourselves  to  deny  her  the 

least  influence  on  that  which  shall  come 

to  pass  in  our  soul.     She   may  strike   at 

the  heart  that  is  eager  for  good,  but  still 

is  she  helpless  to  keep  back  the  light  that 

shall  stream  to  this  heart  from  the  error 

acknowledged,  the  pain  undergone.     It  is 

not  in  her  power  to  prevent  the  soul  from 

transforming    each    single    affliction    into 

thoughts,   into   feelings   and   treasure  she 

dare  not  profane.     Be  her  empire  never  so 
40 


Wisdom  and  Destiny- 
great  over  all  things  external,  she  always 
must  halt  when  she  finds  on  the  thresholds- 
a  silent  guardian  of  the  inner  life.  And 
if  it  be  granted  her  then  to  pass  through 
to  the  hidden  dwelling,  it  is  but  as  a 
bountiful  guest  she  will  enter,  bringing 
with  her  new  pledges  of  peace :  refresh- 
ing the  slumberous  air,  and  making  still 
clearer  the  light,  the  tranquillity  deeper — 
illumining  all  the  horizon. 

§i6. 

Let    us    ask    once    again  :    what    had 

destiny  done  if  she  had,  by  some  blunder, 

lured  Epicurus,  or   Marcus  Aurelius,    or 

Antoninus     Pius    into    the    snares    that 

she   laid   around   CEdipus  ?      I   will  even 

assume   that    she    might    have   compelled 

Antoninus,   for    instance,    to    murder   his 

father,  and,  all  unwittingly,  to  profane  the 

couch  of  his  mother.     Would  that  noble 
41 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

sovereign's  soul  have  been  hopelessly 
crushed?  Would  the  end  of  it  all  not 
have  been  as  the  end  of  all  dramas  must 
be  wherein  the  sage  is  attacked — great 
sorrow  surely,  but  also  great  radiance  that 
springs  from  this  sorrow,  and  already 
is  partly  triumphant  over  the  shadow  of 
grief  ?  Needs  must  Antoninus  have  wept 
as  all  men  must  weep ;  but  tears  can  quench 
not  one  ray  in  the  soul  that  shines  with 
no  borrowed  light.  To  the  sage  the  road 
is  long  that  leads  from  grief  to  despair ; 
it  is  a  road  untravelled  by  wisdom.  When 
the  soul  has  attained  such  loftiness  as  the 
life  of  Antoninus  shows  us  that  his  had 
acquired,  then  is  each  falling  tear  illumined 
by  beautiful  thought  and  by  generous  feel- 
ing. He  would  have  taken  calamity  to 
him,  to  all  that  was  purest,  most  vast, 
in  his  soul ;  and  misfortune,  like  water, 
espouses  the  form  of  the  vase  that  con- 
tains it.  Antoninus,  we  say,  would  have 
42 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

brought  resignation  to  bear;  but  this  is 
a  word  that  too  often  conceals  the  true 
working  of  a  noble  heart.  There  is  no 
soul  so  petty  but  what  it  too  may  believe 
that  it  is  resigned.  Alas !  it  is  not  re- 
signation  that  comforts  us,  raises  and 
chastens ;  but  indeed  the  thoughts  and 
the  feelings  in  whose  name  we  embrace 
resignation ;  and  it  is  here  that  wisdom 
doles  out  the  rewards  they  have  earned  to 
her  faithful. 

Some  ideas  there  are  that  lie  beyond  the 
reach  of  any  catastrophe.  He  will  be  far 
less  exposed  to  disaster  who  cherishes  ideas 
within  him  that  soar  high  above  the  in- 
difference, selfishness,  vanities  of  everyday 
life.  And  therefore,  come  happiness  or 
sorrow,  the  happiest  man  will  be  he  within 
whom  the  greatest  idea  shall  burn  the 
most  ardently.  Had  fate  so  desired  it, 
Antoninus  also,  perhaps,  had  been  guilty 
of  incest  and   parricide ;   but  his   inward 

43 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

life  would  not  have  been  crushed  thereby, 
as  was  that  of  CEdipus ;  nay,  these  very 
catastrophes  would  have  given  him 
mightier  strength,  and  destiny  would 
have  fled  in  despair,  strewing  the  ground 
by  the  emperor's  palace  with  her  nets  and 
her  blunted  weapons ;  for  even  as  triumph 
of  dictators  and  consuls  could  be  cele- 
brated only  in  Rome,  so  can  the  true 
triumph  of  Fate  take  place  nowhere  save' 
in  our  soul. 


§17- 

Where  do  we  find  the  fatality  in  "  Ham- 
let," "King  Lear,"  in  "Macbeth"?  Is 
its  throne  not  erected  in  the  very  centre 
of  the  old  king's  madness,  on  the  lowest 
degree  of  the  young  prince's  imagination, 
at  the  very  summit  of  the  Thane's  morbid 
cravings  ?  Macbeth  we  may  well  pass  by ; 
not  need  we  linger  over  Cordelia's  father, 

44 


I 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

for  his  absence  of  consciousness  is  all  too 
manifest ;  but  Hamlet,  Hamlet  the  thinker 
— is  he  wise  ?  Is  the  elevation  sufficient 
wherefrom  he  looks  down  on  the  crimes 
of  Elsinore?  He  seems  to  regard  them 
from  the  loftiest  heights  of  his  intellect ; 
but  in  the  light-clad  mountain  range  of 
wisdom  there  are  other  peaks  that  tower 
far  above  the  heights  of  the  intellect — 
the  peaks  of  goodness  and  confidence,  of 
indulgence  and  love.  If  he  could  have 
surveyed  the  misdeeds  of  Elsinore  from 
the  eminence  whence  Marcus  Aurelius 
or  Fenelon,  for  instance,  had  surely  sur- 
veyed them,  what  would  have  resulted 
then  ?  And,  first  of  all,  does  it  not 
often  happen  that  a  crime  which  is 
suddenly  conscious  of  the  gaze  of  a 
mightier  soul  will  pause,  and  halt,  and 
at  last  crawl  back  to  its  lair ;  even  as 
bees  cease  from  labour  when  a  gleam  of 
sunshine  steals  into  the  hive  ? 
45 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

The  real  destiny,  the  inner  destiny, 
would  in  any  event  have  followed  Mts 
course  in  the  souls  of  Claudius  and 
Gertrude ;  for  these  sinful  ones  had  de- 
livered themselves  into  its  hands,  as 
must  needs  be  the  case  with  those  whose 
ways  are  evil ;  but  would  it  have  dared  to 
spread  its  influence  abroad  if  one  of  those 
sages  had  been  in  the  palace?  Would 
it  have  dared  to  overstep  the  shining,  de- 
nouncing barrier  that  his  presence  would 
have  imposed,  and  maintained,  in  front 
of  the  palace  gates?  When  the  sage's 
destiny  blends  with  that  of  men  of  in- 
ferior wisdom,  the  sage  raises  them  to  his 
level,  but  himself  will  rarely  descend. 
Neither  on  earth  nor  in  the  domain  of 
fatality  do  rivers  flow  back  to  their 
source.  But  to  return :  let  us  imagine 
a  sovereign,  all-powerful  soul — that  of 
Jesus,    in    Hamlet's    place    at    Elsinore ; 

would  the  tragedy  then  have  flown  on  till 
46 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

it  reached  the  four  deaths  at  the  end  ?  Is 
that  conceivable  ?  A  crime  may  be  never 
so  skilfully  planned — when  the  eyes  of 
deep  wisdom  rest  on  it,  it  becomes  like  a 
trivial  show  that  we  offer  to  very  small 
children  at  nightfall :  some  magic-lantern 
performance,  whose  tawdry  imposture  a 
last  gleam  of  sunshine  lays  bare.  Can  you 
conceive  Jesus  Christ — nay,  any  wise  man 
you  have  happened  to  meet — in  the  midst 
of  the  unnatural  gloom  that  overhung 
Elsinore  ?  Is  not  every  action  of  Hamlet 
induced  by  a  fanatical  impulse,  which  tells  *^ 
him  that  duty  consists  in  revenge  alone  ? 
and  does  it  need  superhuman  effort  to 
recognise  that  revenge  never  can  be  a  duty  ? 
I  say  again  that  Hamlet  thinks  much,  but  ^ 
that  he  is  by  no  means  wise.  He  can- 
not conceive  where  to  look  for  the  weak 
spot  in  destiny's  armour.  Lofty  thoughts 
suffice  not  always  to  overcome  destiny  ;  for 
against  these  destiny  can  oppose  thoughts 

47 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

that  are  loftier  still ;  but  what  destiny  has 
ever  withstood  thoughts  that  are  simple 
and  good,  thoughts  that  are  tender  and 
loyal  ?  We  can  triumph  over  destiny  only 
by  doing  the  very  reverse  of  the  evil  she 
fain  would  have  us  commit.  For  no  tragedy 
can  be  inevitable.  At  Elsinore  there  is 
not  a  soul  but  refuses  to  see,  and  hence 
the  catastrophe  ;  but  a  soul  that  is  quick 
with  life  will  compel  those  around  it  to 
open  their  eyes.  Where  was  it  written 
that  Laertes,  Ophelia,  Hamlet,  Claudius, 
Gertrude,  should  die  —  where,  save  in 
Hamlet's  pitiful  blindness }  But  was  this 
blindness  inevitable  ?  Why  speak  of  des- 
tiny when  a  simple  thought  had  sufficed 
to  arrest  all  the  forces  of  murder  .?  The 
empire  of  destiny  is  surely  sufficiently  vast. 
I  acknowledge  her  might  when  a  wall 
crashes  down  on  my  head,  when  the  storm 
drives  a  ship  on  the  rocks,  when  disease 

attacks   those   whom    I    love ;    but    into 
48 


Wisdom  and   Destiny 

man's  soul  she  never  will  come,  uncalled. 
Hamlet  is  unhappy  because  he  moves  in 
unnatural  darkness ;  and  his  ignorance  puts 
the  seal  upon  his  unhappiness.  We  have 
but  to  issue  commands  and  fate  will  obey 
— there  is  nothing  in  the  v^orld  that  will 
offer  such  long  and  patient  submission. 
Horatio,  up  to  the  last,  could  have  issued 
commands  ;  but  his  master's  shadow  lay  on 
him,  and  he  lacked  the  courage  to  shake 
himself  free.  Had  there  been  but  one  soul 
courageous  enough  to  cry  out  the  truth, 
then  had  the  history  of  Elsinore  not  been 
shrouded  in  tears  of  hatred  and  horror. 
But  misfortune,  that  bends  beneath  the 
fingers  of  wisdom  like  the  cane  that  we 
cut  from  the  tree,  becomes  iron,  and  mur- 
derously rigid,  in  the  hand  of  unconscious- 
ness. Once  again,  all  depended  here,  not 
on  destiny,  but  on  the  wisdom  of  the 
wisest,  and  this  Hamlet  was  ;  there- 
fore did  he,  by  his  presence,  become  the 

49  D 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

centre  of  the  drama  of  Elsinore;  and  on 
himself  only  did  the  wisdom  of  Hamlet 
depend. 


And  if  you  look  distrustfully  on  ima- 
ginary tragedies,  you  have  only  to  in- 
vestigate some  of  the  greatest  dramas  of 
authentic  history  to  find  that  in  these  too 
the  destinies  of  men  are  no  different :  that 
their  ways  are  the  same,  and  their  petulance, 
their  revolt  and  submission.  You  will 
discover  that  there  too  it  is  a  force  of 
man's  own  creating  that  plays  the  most 
active  part  in  what  it  pleases  us  to  term 
"  fatality."  This  fatality,  it  is  true,  is 
enormous,  but  rarely  irresistible.  It  does 
not  leap  forth  at  a  given  moment  from 
an  inexorable,  inaccessible,  unfathomable 
abyss.  It  is  built  up  of  the  energy, 
the   desires    and    suffering,   the    thoughts 

and  passions  of  our  brothers  ;  and  these 
50 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

passions  should  be  well  known  to  us, 
for  they  differ  not  from  our  own.  In 
our  most  inexplicable  moments,  in  our 
most  mysterious,  unexpected  misfortunes, 
we  rarely  find  ourselves  struggling  with 
an  invisible  enemy,  or  one  that  is  entirely 
foreign  to  us.  (Why  strive  of  our  own 
free  will  to  enlarge  the  domain  of  the 
inevitable  ^  They  who  are  truly  strong 
are  aware  that  among  the  forces  that 
oppose  their  schemes  there  are  some  that 
they  know  not ;  but  against  such  as  they 
do  know  they  fight  on  as  bravely  as  though 
no  others  existed ;  and  these  men  will  be 
often  victorious.  We  shall  have  added 
most  strangely  to  our  safety  and  happiness 
and  peace  the  day  that  our  sloth  and  our 
ignorance  shall  have  ceased  to  term  fatal, 
what  should  truly  be  looked  on  as  human 
and  natural  by  our  intelligence  and  our 
energy. 


51 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 


§  19- 

Let  us  consider  one  noteworthy  victim 
of  destiny,  Louis  XVI.  Never,  it  would 
seem,  did  relentless  fatality  clamour  so 
loudly  for  the  destruction  of  an  unfor- 
tunate man ;  of  one  who  was  gentle,  and 
good,  and  virtuous,  and  honourable.  And 
yet,  as  we  look  more  closely  into  the  pages 
of  history,  do  we  not  find  that  fatality 
distils  her  poison  from  the  victim's 
own  wavering  feebleness,  his  own  trivial 
duplicity,  blindness,  unreason,  and  vanity  ? 
And  if  it  be  true  that  some  kind  of 
predestination  governs  every  circumstance 
of  life,  it  appears  to  be  no  less  true  that 
such  predestination  exists  in  our  character 
only ;  and  to  modify  character  must  surely 
be  easy  to  the  man  of  unfettered  will,  for 
is  it  not  constantly  changing  in  the  lives 

of  the  vast  bulk  of  men  ?     Is  your  own 
53 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

character,  at  thirty,  the  same  as  it  was 
when  you  were  ten  years  younger  ?  It 
will  be  better  or  worse  in  the  measure 
that  you  have  believed  that  disloyalty, 
wickedness,  hatred  and  falsehood  have 
triumphed  in  life,  or  goodness,  and  truth, 
and  love.  And  you  will  have  thought  that 
you  witnessed  the  triumph  of  hatred  or 
love,  of  truth  or  of  falsehood,  in  exact 
accord  with  the  lofty  or  baser  idea  as  to 
the  happiness  and  aim  of  your  life  that 
will  slowly  have  arisen  within  you.  For 
it  is  our  most  secret  desire  that  governs 
and  dominates  all.  If  your  eyes  look  for 
nothing  but  evil,  you  will  always  see  evil 
triumphant ;  but  if  you  have  learned  to 
let  your  glance  rest  on  sincerity,  simple- 
ness,  truth,  you  will  ever  discover,  deep 
down  in  all  things,  the  silent  overpowering 
victory  of  that  which  you  love. 


53 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

§    20. 

It  is  scarcely  from  this  point  of  view, 

however,    that    Louis    XVI.    should    be 

judged.      Let  us  rather  imagine  ourselves 

in  his  place,  in  the  midst  of  his  doubt  and 

bewilderment,  his  darkness  and  difficulties. 

Now  that  we  know  all  that  happened  it  is 

easy  enough  to  declare  what  should  have 

been  done  ;  but  are  we  ourselves,  at  this 

moment,  aware  of  what  is  our  duty  ?     Are 

we    not    contending    with    troubles    and 

doubts  of  our  own  ?  and  were  it  not  well 

that  they  who  one  day  shall  pass  judgment 

upon  us  should  seek  out  the  track  that 

our  footsteps  have  left  on  the  sands  of  the 

hillock    we    climbed,    hoping    thence    to 

discover  the    future }      Louis    XVI.    was 

bewildered :  do  we  know  what  ought  to 

be  done  ?     Do  we  know  what  we  best  had 

abandon,  what  we  best  had  defend  ?     Are 

we  wiser  than  he  as  we  waver  betwixt  the 
54 


Wisdom  and  Destiny* 

rights  of  human  reason  and  those  that  cir- 
cumstance claims  ?  And  when  hesitation 
is  conscientious,  does  it  not  often  possess 
all  the  elements  of  duty  ?  There  is  one 
most  important  lesson  to  be  learned  from 
the  example  of  this  unfortunate  king  : 
and  it  is  that  when  doubt  confronts  us 
which  in  itself  is  noble  and  great,  it  is 
our  duty  to  march  bravely  onwards,  turn- 
ing neither  to  right  nor  to  left  of  us, 
going  infinitely  further  than  seems  to  be 
reasonable,  practical,  just.  The  idea  that 
we  hold  to-day  of  duty,  and  justice,  and 
truth,  may  seem  clear  to  us  now,  and  ad- 
vanced and  unfettered  ;  but  how  different 
will  it  appear  a  few  years,  a  few  centuries 
later !  Had  Louis  XVI.  done  what  we 
should  have  done — we  who  now  are  aware 
of  what  had  been  the  right  thing  to  do — 
had  he  frankly  renounced  all  the  follies 
of  royal  prerogative,  and  loyally  adopted 
the  new  truth  and  loftier  justice  that  had 
55 


Wisdom  and  Destiny- 
sprung  into  being,  then  should  we  to-day 
be  admiring  his  genius.  And  the  king 
himself,  perhaps — for  he  was  not  a  foolish 
man,  or  wicked — may  have  for  one  in- 
stant beheld  his  own  situation  with  the 
clear  eye  of  an  impartial  philosopher. 
That  at  least  is  by  no  means  impossible, 
historically  or  psychologically.  Even  in 
our  most  solemn  hours  of  doubt  it  is  rare 
that  we  know  not  where  we  should  look 
for  the  fixed  point  of  duty,  its  unalterable 
summit ;  but  we  feel  that  there  stretches 
a  distance  too  wide  to  be  travelled  be- 
tween the  actual  thing  to  be  done  and 
this  mountain-peak,  that  glitters  afar  in 
its  solitude.  And  yet  it  is  proved  by 
man's  whole  history — by  the  life  of  each 
one  of  us  —  that  it  is  on  the  loftiest 
summit  that  right  has  always  its  dwell- 
ing; and  that  to  this  summit  we  too 
at  the  end  must  climb,  after  much  pre- 
cious time  has  been  lost  on  many  an 
56 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

intermediate  eminence.  And  what  is  a 
sage,  a  great  man,  a  hero,  if  not  one  who 
has  dared  to  go,  alone  and  ahead  of  the 
others,  to  the  deserted  table-land  that  lay 
more  or  less  within  sight  of  all  men  ? 

§21. 

We  do  not  imply  that  Louis  XVI. 
should  necessarily  have  been  a  man  of  this 
stamp,  a  man  of  genius  ;  although  to  have 
genius  seems  almost  the  duty  of  him  who 
sways  in  his  hands  the  destiny  of  vast 
numbers  of  men.  Nor  do  we  claim  that 
the  best  men  among  us  to-day  would  have 
been  able  to  escape  his  errors,  or  the 
misfortunes  to  which  they  gave  rise.  And 
yet  there  is  one  thing  certain :  that  of 
all  these  misfortunes  none  had  super- 
human origin;  not  one  was  supernaturally, 
or    too    mysteriously,    inevitable.      They 

came  not  from  another  world ;  they  were 
57 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

launched  by  no  monstrous  god,  capricious 
and  incomprehensible.  They  were  born 
of  an  idea  of  justice  that  men  failed  to 
grasp ;  an  idea  of  justice  that  suddenly 
had  wakened  in  life,  but  never  had  lain 
asleep  in  the  reason  of  man.  And  is 
there  a  thing  in  this  world  can  be  more 
reassuring,  or  nearer  to  us,  more  pro- 
foundly human,  than  an  idea  of  justice  ? 
Louis  XVI.  may  well  have  regretted  that 
this  idea,  that  shattered  his  peace,  should 
have  awakened  during  his  reign ;  but  this 
was  the  only  reproach  he  could  level  at 
fate  ;  and  when  we  murmur  at  fate  our- 
selves our  complaints  have  much  the 
same  value.  For  the  rest,  it  is  legitimate 
enough  to  suppose  that  there  needed  but 
one  single  act  of  energy,  absolute  loyalty, 
disinterested,  clear-sighted  wisdom,  to 
change  the  whole  course  of  events.  If 
the  flight  to  Varennes — in   itself  an    act 

of  duplicity  and   culpable  weakness — had 
58 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

only  been  arranged  a  little  less  childishly, 
foolishly  (as  any  man  would  have  arranged 
it  who  was  accustomed  to  the  habits  of 
life),  there  can  be  not  a  doubt  that  Louis 
XVI.  would  never  have  died  on  the  scaffold. 
Was  it  a  god,  or  his  blind  reliance  on 
Marie  Antoinette,  that  led  him  to  entrust 
de  Fersen — a  stupid,  conceited,  and  tact- 
less creature — with  the  preparations  and 
control  of  this  disastrous  journey  ?  Was 
it  a  force  instinct  with  great  mystery,  or 
only  his  own  unconsciousness,  heedlessness, 
thoughtlessness,  and  a  kind  of  strange 
apathetic  submission — such  as  the  weak 
and  the  idle  will  often  display  at  mo- 
ments of  danger,  when  they  seem  almost 
to  challenge  their  star  —  that  induced 
him  again  and  again,  at  each  change  of 
horses,  to  put  his  head  out  of  the  carriage 
window,  and  thus  be  recognised  three  or 
four  times  ?     And   at  the    moment  that 

decided  all,  in  that  throbbing  and  sinister 
59 


Wisdom  and  Destiny- 
night  of  Varennes — a  night  indeed  when 
fatality  should  have  been  an  immovable 
mountain  governing  all  the  horizon — do 
we  not  see  this  fatality  stumbling  at  every 
step,  like  a  child  that  is  learning  to  walk 
and  wonders  is  it  this  white  pebble  or 
that  tuft  of  grass  that  will  cause  it  to  fall 
to  right  or  to  left  of  the  path  ?  And  then, 
at  the  tragic  halt  of  the  carriage,  in  that 
black  night :  at  the  terrible  cry  sent  forth 
by  young  Drouet,  "In  the  name  of  the 
Nation ! "  there  had  needed  but  one  order 
from  the  king,  one  lash  of  the  whip,  one 
pull  at  the  collar — and  you  and  I  would 
probably  not  have  been  born,  for  the 
history  of  the  world  had  been  different. 
And  again,  in  presence  of  the  mayor,  who 
stood  there,  respectful,  disconcerted,  hesi- 
tating, ready  to  fling  every  gate  open  had 
but  one  imperious  word  been  spoken ; 
and  at  the  shop  of  M.  Sauce,  the  worthy 
village    grocer ;    and,    last    of  all,    when 


60 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

Goguelat  and  de  Choiseul  had  arrived 
with  their  hussars,  bringing  rescue,  salva- 
tion— did  not  all  depend,  a  hundred  times 
over,  on  a  mere  yes  or  no,  a  step,  a  gesture, 
a  look  ?  Take  any  ten  men  with  whom 
you  are  intimate,  let  them  have  been  King 
of  France,  you  can  foretell  the  issue  of 
their  ten  nights.  Ah,  it  was  that  night 
truly  that  heaped  shame  on  fatality,  that 
laid  bare  her  weakness !  For  that  night 
revealed  to  all  men  the  dependence,  the 
wretched  and  .shivering  poverty  of  the 
great  mysterious  force  that,  in  moments 
of  undue  resignation,  seems  to  weigh  so 
heavily  on  life  !  Never  before  has  she 
been  beheld  so  completely  despoiled  of 
her  vestments,  of  her  imposing,  deceptive 
robes,  as  she  incessantly  came  and  went 
that  night,  from  death  to  life,  from  life 
to  death ;  throwing  herself  at  last,  like  a 
woman  distraught,  into  the  arms  of  an 
unhappy  king,   whom  she    besought    till 

6i 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

dawn  for  a  decision,  an  existence,  that 
she  herself  never  can  find  save  only  in 
the  depths  of  the  will  and  the  intellect 
of  man. 

And  yet  this  is  not  the  entire  truth.  It 
is  helpful  to  regard  events  in  this  fashion, 
thus  seeking  to  minimise  the  importance 
of  fatality,  looking  upon  it  as  some  vague 
and  wandering  creature  that  we  have  to 
shelter  and  guide.  We  gain  the  more 
courage  thereby,  the  more  confidence, 
initiative  ;  and  these  are  qualities  essential 
to  the  doing  of  anything  useful ;  and 
they  shall  stand  us  in  good  stead,  too, 
when  our  own  hour  of  danger  draws 
nigh.  But  for  all  that,  we  do  not  pre- 
tend that  there  truly  is  no  other  force — 
that  all  things  can  be  governed  by  our 
will   and   our   intellect.     These   must   be 

trained    to    act    like    the    soldiers    of    a 
62 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

conquering  army ;  they  must  learn  to 
thrive  at  the  cost  of  all  that  opposes 
them ;  they  must  find  sustenance  even  in 
the  unknown  that  towers  above  them. 
Those  who  desire  to  emerge  from  the 
ordinary  habits  of  life,  from  the  straitened 
happiness  of  mere  pleasure-seeking  men, 
must  march  with  deliberate  conviction 
along  the  path  that  is  known  to  them, 
yet  never  forget  the  unexplored  regions 
through  which  this  path  winds.  We 
must  act  as  though  we  were  masters — 
as  though  all  things  were  bound  to 
obey  us ;  and  yet  let  us  carefully  tend  in 
our  soul' a  thought  whose  duty  it  shall  be 
to  offer  noble  submission  to  the  mighty 
forces  we  may  encounter.  It  is  well  that 
the  hand  should  believe  that  all  is  ex- 
pected, foreseen ;  but  well,  too,  that  we 
should  have  in  us  a  secret  idea,  inviolable, 
incorruptible,  that  will  always  remember 
that  whatever  is  great  most  often  must 
63 


Wisdom  and  Destiny- 
be  unforeseen.  It  is  the  unforeseen,  the 
unknown,  that  fulfil  what  we  never  should 
dare  to  attempt ;  but  they  will  not  come 
to  our  aid  if  they  find  not,  deep  down  in 
our  heart,  an  altar  inscribed  to  their 
worship.  Men  of  the  mightiest  will — 
men  like  Napoleon — were  careful,  in  their 
most  extraordinary  deeds,  to  leave  open 
a  good  share  to  fate.  Those  within  whom 
there  lives  not  a  generous  hope  will  keep 
fate  closely  confined,  as  they  would  a 
sickly  child ;  but  others  invite  her  into 
the  limitless  plains  man  has  not  yet  the 
strength  to  explore,  and  their  eyes  follow 
her  every  movement. 

§23. 

These  feverish  hours  of  history  resemble 

a  storm  that  we   see  on  the   ocean ;    we 

come  from    far  inland :   we  rush  to  the 

beach,  in   keen  expectation ;   we  eye  the 
64 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

enormous  waves  with  curious  eagerness, 
with  almost  childish  intensity.  And  there 
comes  one  along  that  is  three  times  as  high 
and  as  fierce  as  the  rest.  It  rushes  towards 
us  like  some  monster  with  diaphanous 
muscles.  It  uncoils  itself  in  mad  haste 
from  the  distant  horizon,  as  though  it 
were  bearer  of  some  urgent,  complete  re- 
velation. It  ploughs  in  its  wake  a  track  so 
deep  that  we  feel  that  the  sea  must  at  last 
be  yielding  up  one  of  her  secrets;  but  all 
things  happen  the  same  as  on  a  breathless 
and  cloudless  day,  when  languid  wavelets 
roll  to  and  fro  in  the  limpid,  fathomless 
water ;  from  the  ocean  arises  no  living 
thing,  not  a  blade  of  grass,  not  a  stone. 

If  aught  could  discourage  the  sage 
— though  he  is  not  truly  wise  whose 
astonilshment  is  not  enlightened,  and  his 
interest  quickened,  by  the  unforeseen 
thing  that  discourages — it  would  be  the 
discovery,  in  this  French   Revolution,  of 

65  E 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

more  than  one  destiny  that  is  infinitely- 
sadder,  more  overwhelming,  more  inex- 
plicable, than  that  of  Louis  XVI.  I  refer 
to  the  Girondins:  above  all,  to  the  admir- 
able Vergniaud.  To-day  even,  though  we 
know  all  that  the  future  kept  hidden 
from  him,  and  are  able  to  divine  what  it 
'  was  that  was  sought  by  the  instinctive 
desire  of  that  exceptional  century — to-day 
even  it  were  surely  not  possible  to  act 
more  nobly,  more  wisely,  than  he.  Let 
fortune  hurl  any  man  into  the  burning 
centre  of  a  movement  that  had  swept 
every  barrier  down,  it  were  surely  not  pos- 
sible to  reveal  a  finer  character  or  loftier 
spirit.  Could  we  fashion,  deep  down  in 
our  heart,  out  of  all  that  is  purest  with- 
in us,  out  of  all  our  wisdom  and  all  our 
love,  some  beautiful,  spotless  creature  with 
never  a  thought  of  self,  without  weak- 
ness or  error — such  a  being  would  desire 
a    place    by  the    side    of  Vergniaud,  on 

66 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

those  deserted  Convention  seats,  '*  whereon 
the  shadow  of  death  seemed  already  to 
hover,"  that  he  might  think  as  Vergniaud 
thought,  and  so  speak,  and  act.  He  saw  the 
infallible,  eternal,  that  lay  the  other  side 
of  that  tragical  moment ;  he  knew  how  to 
be  humane  and  benevolent  still,  through 
all  those  terrible  days  when  humanity  and 
benevolence  seemed  the  bitterest  enemies 
of  the  ideal  of  justice,  whereto  he  had 
sacrificed  all ;  and  in  his  great  and  noble 
doubt  he  marched  bravely  onwards,  turn- 
ing neither  to  right  nor  to  left  of  him, 
going  infinitely  further  than  seemed  to 
be  reasonable,  practical,  just.  The  violent 
death  that  was  not  unexpected  came  to- 
wards him,  with  half  his  road  yet  untra- 
velled ;  to  teach  us  that  often  in  this 
strange  conflict  between  man  and  his  des- 
tiny, the  question  is  not  how  to  save  the 
life  of  our  body,   but  that  of  our  most 

beautiful  feelings,  of  our  loftiest  thoughts. 
67 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

"  Of  what  avail  are  my  loftiest  thoughts 
if  I  have  ceased  to  exist  ? "  there  are  some 
will  ask ;  to  whom  others,  it  may  be,  will 
answer,  "  What  becomes  of  myself  if  all 
that  I  love  in  my  heart  and  my  spirit  must 
die,  that  my  life  may  be  saved  ? "  And 
are  not  almost  all  the  morals,  and  heroism, 
and  virtue  of  rnan  summed  up  in  that 
single  choice  ? 

But  what  may  this  wisdom  be  that  we 
rate  thus  highly  ?  Let  us  not  seek  to 
define  it  too  closely ;  that  were  but  to 
enchain  it.  If  a  man  were  desirous  to 
study  the  nature  of  light,  and  began  by 
extinguishing  all  the  lights  that  were  near, 
would  not  a  few  cinders,  a  smouldering 
wick,  be  all  he  would  ever  discover  ?  And 
so  has  it  been  with  those  who  essayed 
definition.  "  The  word  wise,"  said  Joubert, 
"  when  used  to  a  child,  is  a  word  that  each 

child  understands,  and  that  we  need  never 

68 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

explain."  Let  us  accept  it  even  as  the 
child  accepts  it,  that  it  may  grow  with 
our  growth.  Let  us  say  of  wisdom  what 
Sister  Hadewijck,  the  mysterious  enemy  of 
Ruijsbroeck  the  Admirable,  said  of  love  : 
"  Its  profoundest  abyss  is  its  most  beauti- 
ful form."  Wisdom  requires  no  form; 
her  beauty  must  vary,  as  varies  the  beauty 
of  flame.  She  is  no  motionless  goddess, 
for  ever  couched  on  her  throne.  She  is 
Minerva  who  follows  us,  soars  to  the 
skies  with  us,  falls  to  the  earth  with  us, 
mingles  her  tears  with  our  tears,  and 
rejoices  when  we  rejoice.  Truly  wise  you 
are  not  unless  your  wisdom  be  constantly 
changing  from  your  childhood  on  to  your 
death.  The  more  the  word  means  to  you, 
the  more  beauty  and  depth  it  conveys,  the 
wiser  must  you  become ;  and  each  step 
that  one  takes  towards  wisdom  reveals  to 
the  soul  ever-widening  space,  that  wisdom 

never  shall  traverse. 

69 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

§25. 

He  who  knows  himself  is  wise  ;  yet  have 
we  no  sooner  acquired  real  consciousness 
of  our  being  than  we  learn  that  true 
wisdom  is  a  thing  that  lies  far  deeper 
than  consciousness.  The  chief  gain  of 
increased  consciousness  is  that  it  unveils 
an  ever-loftier  unconsciousness,  on  whose 
heights  do  the  sources  lie  of  the  purest 
wisdom.  The  heritage  of  unconsciousness 
is  for  all  men  the  same  ;  but  it  is  situate 
partly  within  and  partly  without  the  con- 
fines of  normal  consciousness.  The  bulk 
of  mankind  wil4  rarely  pass  over  the 
border ;  but  true  lovers  of  wisdom  press 
on  till  they  open  new  routes  that  cross 
over  the  frontier.  If  I  love,  and  my  love 
has  procured  me  the  fullest  consciousness 
man  may  attain,  then  will  an  unconscious- 
ness light  up  this  love  that  shall  be  quite 

other  than  the  one  whereby  commonplace 
70 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

love  is  obscured.  For  this  second  un- 
consciousness hedges  the  animal  round, 
whereas  the  first  draws  close  unto  God ; 
but  needs  must  it  lose  all  trace  of  the 
second  ere  it  become  aware  of  itself.  In 
unconsciousness  we  ever  must  dwell ;  but 
are  able  to  purify,  day  after  day,  the 
unconsciousness  that  wraps  us  around. 

§    26. 

We  shall  not  become  wise  through 
worshipping  reason  alone ;  and  wisdom 
means  more  than  perpetual  triumph  of 
reason  over  inferior  instincts.  Such 
triumphs  can  help  us  but  little  if  our 
reason  be  not  taught  thereby  to  offer 
profoundest  submission  to  another  and 
different  instinct  —  that  of  the  soul. 
These  triumphs  are  precious,  because 
they  reveal  the  presence  of  diviner  in- 
stinct, that  grows  ever  diviner  still.     And 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

their  aim  is  not  in  themselves ;  they  serve 
but  to  clear  the  way  for  the  destiny  of 
the  soul,  which  is  a  destiny,  always,  of 
purification  and  light. 


S  27. 

Reason  flings  open  the  door  to  wisdom  ; 
but  the  most  living  wisdom  befinds  itself 
not  in  reason.  Reason  bars  the  gate  to 
malevolent  destiny ;  but  wisdom,  away  on 
the  horizon,  throws  open  another  gate  to 
propitious  destiny.  Reason  defends  and 
withdraws ;  forbids,  rejects,  and  destroys. 
Wisdom  advances,  attacks,  and  adds ;  in- 
creases, creates,  and  commands.  Reason 
produces  not  wisdom,  which  is  rather  a 
craving  of  soul.  It  dwells  up  above,  fai* 
higher  than  reason ;  and  thus  is  it  of  the 
nature  of  veritable  wisdom  to  do  count- 
less things  whereof  reason  disapproves,  or 

shall    but  approve    hereafter.     So  was   it 
72 


I  /s  n   y  .   ■•»,^ 


Wisdom  and  Destiny^'^^St.CAufo^^ 

that  wisdom  one  day  said  to  reason,  It 
were  well  to  love  one's  enemies  and  return 
good  for  evil.  Reason,  that  day,  tiptoe 
on  the  loftiest  peak  in  its  kingdom,  at 
last  was  fain  to  agree.  But  wisdom  is 
not  yet  content,  and  seeks  ever  further, 
alone. 

§  28. 

If  wisdom  obeyed  reason  only,  and 
sought  nothing  more  than  to  overcome 
instinct,  then  would  wisdom  be  ever  the 
same.  There  would  be  but  one  wisdom 
for  all,  and  its  whole  range  would  be 
known  to  man,  for  reason  has  more  than 
once  explored  its  entire  domain. 

Certain  fixed  points  there  well  may  be 
that  are  common  to  all  classes  of  wisdom ; 
but  there  exists  none  the  less  the  widest 
possible  difference  between  the  atmospheres 
that  enwrapped  the  wisdom  of  Jesus  Christ 
and  of  Socrates,  of  Aristides  and  Marcus 
Aurelius,  of  Fenelon  and  Jean  Paul.  Let 
73 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

the  same  event  befall  these  men  on  the 
self-same  day :  if  it  fall  into  the  running 
waters  of  their  wisdom,  it  will  undergo 
complete  transformation,  becoming  dif- 
ferent in  every  one ;  if  it  fall  into  the 
stagnant  water  of  their  reason,  it  will 
remain  as  it  was,  unchanged.  If  Jesus 
Christ  and  Socrates  both  were  to  meet  the 
adulterous  woman,  the  words  that  their 
reason  would  prompt  them  to  speak  would 
vary  but  little ;  but  belonging  to  different 
worlds  would  be  the  working  of  the  wis- 
dom within  them,  far  beyond  words  and 
far  beyond  thoughts.  For  differences  such 
as  these  are  of  the  very  essence  of  wisdom. 
There  is  but  one  starting-point  for  the 
wise — the  threshold  of  reason.  But  they 
separate  one  from  the  other  as  soon  as 
the  triumphs  of  reason  are  well  under- 
stood ;  in  other  words,  as  soon  as  they 
enter  freely  the  domain  of  the  higher 
unconsciousness. 

74 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

§29. 

To  say  "  this  is  reasonable "  is  by  no 
means  the  same  as  to  say  "  this  is  wise." 
The  thing  that  is  reasonable  is  not  of 
necessity  wise,  and  a  thing  may  be  very 
wise  and  yet  be  condemned  by  over-ex- 
acting reason.  It  is  from  reason  that 
justice  springs,  but  goodness  is  born  of 
wisdom ;  and  goodness,  we  are  told  by 
Plutarch,  "  extends  much  further  than 
justice."  Is  it  to  reason  or  wisdom  that 
heroism  should  be  ascribed  ?  Wisdom, 
perhaps,  is  only  the  sense  of  the  infinite 
applied  to  our  moral  life.  Reason,  it  is 
true,  has  the  sense  of  the  infinite  also, 
but  dare  not  do  more  than  accord  it  bare 
recognition.  It  would  seem  opposed  to 
the  very  instinct  of  reason  to  regard  the 
sense  of  the  infinite  as  being  of  importance 
in  life ;  but  wisdom  is  wise  in  the  measure 
75 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

that  the  infinite  governs  all  she  procures 
to  be  done. 

In  reason  no  love  can  be  found — there 
is  much  love  in  wisdom ;  and  all  that  is 
highest  in  wisdom  entwines  around  all 
that  is  purest  in  love.  Love  is  the  form 
most  divine  of  the  infinite,  and  also,  be- 
cause  most  divine,  the  form  most  pro- 
foundly human.  Why  should  we  not  say 
that  wisdom  is  the  triumph  of  reason 
divine  over  reason  of  man  ? 


§30. 

We  cannot  cultivate  reason  too  fully ; 

but    by   wisdom    only    should    reason    be 

guided.      The    man    is    not    wise    whose 

reason  has  not  yet  been   taught   to  obey 

the    first    signal    of  love.     What   would 

Christ,  all  the  heroes,  have  done  had  their 

reason  not  learned  to  submit  ?     Is  each 

deed    of    the    hero    not    always    outside 
76 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

the  boundary  of  reason  ?  and  yet,  who 
would  venture  to  say  that  the  hero  is 
not  wiser  by  far  than  the  sluggard  who 
quits  not  his  chair  because  reason  forbids 
him  to  rise  ?  Let  us  say  it  once  more — 
the  vase  wherein  we  should  tend  the  true 
wisdom  is  love,  and  not  reason.  Reason 
is  found,  it  is  true,  at  the  root-springs 
of  wisdom,  yet  is  wisdom  not  reason's 
flower.  For  we  speak  not  of  logical 
wisdom  here,  but  of  wisdom  quite  other, 
the  favourite  sister  of  love. 

Reason  and  love  battle  fiercely  at  first 
in  the  soul  that  begins  to  expand ;  but 
wisdom  is  born  of  the  peace  that  at  last 
comes  to  pass  between  reason  and  love ; 
and  the  peace  becomes  the  profounder 
as  reason  yields  up  still  more  of  her  rights 
to  love. 


77 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

§31. 
Wisdom  is  the  lamp  of  love,  and  love  is 
the  oil  of  the  lamp.  Love,  sinking  deeper, 
grows  wiser ;  and  wisdom  that  springs  up 
aloft  comes  ever  the  nearer  to  love.  If 
you  love,  you  must  needs  become  wise  ;  be 
wise,  and  you  surely  shall  love.  Nor  can 
any  one  love  with  the  veritable  love  but 
his  love  must  make  him  the  better ;  and 
to  grow  better  is  but  to  grow  wiser. 
There  is  not  a  man  in  the  world  but 
something  improves  in  his  soul  from  the 
moment  he  loves — and  that  though  his 
love  be  but  vulgar;  and  those  in  whom 
love  never  dies  must  needs  continue  to 
love  as  their  soul  grows  nobler  and  nobler. 
Love  is  the  food  of  wisdom  ;  wisdom  the 
food  of  love ;  a  circle  of  light  within 
which  those  who  love  clasp  the  hands  of 
those  who  are  wise.  Wisdom  and  love  are 
one ;  and  in  Swedenborg's  Paradise  the  wife 

is  *' the  love  of  the  wisdom  of  the  wise." 
78 


r 

Wisdom  and  Destin 


§32. 

"  Our  reason,"  said  Fenelon,  "  is  de- 
rived from  the  clearness  of  our  ideas." 
But  our  wisdom,  we  might  add — in  other 
words,  all  that  is  best  in  our  soul  and  our 
character,  is  to  be  found  above  all  in  those 
ideas  that  are  not  yet  clear.  Were  we  to 
allow  our  clear  ideas  only  to  govern  our 
life,  we  should  quickly  become  undeserving 
of  either  much  love  or  esteem.  For,  truly, 
what  could  be  less  clear  than  the  reasons 
that  bid  us  be  generous,  upright,  and  just ; 
that  teach  us  to  cherish  in  all  things  the 
noblest  of  feelings  and  thoughts  ?  But  it 
happily  so  comes  to  pass  that  the  more 
clear  ideas  we  possess,  the  more  do  we 
learn  to  respect  those  that  as  yet  are  still 
vague.  We  must  strive  without  ceasing 
to  clarify  as  many  ideas  as  we  can,  that  we 
may  thus  arouse   in   our  soul   more  and 

79 


Wisdom  and  Destiny- 
more  that  now  are  obscure.  The  clear 
ideas  may  at  times  seem  to  govern  our 
external  life,  but  the  others  perforce  must 
march  on  at  the  head  of  our  intimate  life, 
and  the  life  that  we  see  invariably  ends  by 
obeying  the  invisible  life.  On  the  quality, 
number,  and  power  of  our  clear  ideas  do 
the  quality,  number,  and  power  depend  of 
those  that  are  vague ;  and  hidden  away  in 
the  midst  of  these  vague  ones,  patiently 
biding  their  hour,  there  may  well  lurk 
most  of  the  definite  truths  that  we  seek 
with  such  ardour.  Let  us  not  keep  them 
waiting  too  long ;  and  indeed,  a  beautiful 
crystal  idea  we  awaken  within  us  shall  not 
fail,  in  its  turn,  to  arouse  a  beautiful  vague 
idea ;  which  last,  growing  old,  and  having 
itself  become  clear  (for  is  not  perfect  clear- 
ness most  often  the  sign  of  decrepitude  in 
the  idea  ?),  shall  also  go  forth,  and  disturb 
from  its  slumber  another  obscure  idea,  but 
loftier,  lovelier  far  than  it  had  been  itself 


80 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

in  its  sleep ;  and  thus,  it  may  be,  treading 
gently,  one  after  the  other,  and  never  dis- 
heartened, in  the  midst  of  those  silent  ranks 
— some  day,  by  mere  chance,  a  small  hand, 
scarce  visible  yet,  shall  touch  a  great  truth. 

Clear  ideas  and  obscure  ideas ;  heart, 
intellect,  will,  and  reason,  and  soul — truly 
these  words  that  we  use  do  but  mean  more 
or  less  the  same  thing  :  the  spiritual  riches 
of  man.  The  soul  may  well  be  no  more 
than  the  most  beautiful  desire  of  our  brain, 
and  God  Himself  be  only  the  most  beauti- 
ful desire  of  our  soul.  So  great  is  the 
darkness  here  that  we  can  but  seek  to 
divide  it ;  and  the  lines  that  we  trace  must 
be  blacker  still  than  the  sections  they  tra- 
verse. Of  all  the  ideals  that  are  left  to 
us,  there  is  perhaps  only  one  that  we  still 
can  accept ;  and  that  one  is  to  gain  full 

8l  F 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

self-knowledge  ;  but  to  how  great  an  extent 
does  this  knowledge  truly  depend  on  our 
reason — this  knowledge  that  at  first  would 
appear  to  depend  on  our  reason  alone  ? 
Surely  he  who  at  last  had  succeeded  in 
realising,  to  the  fullest  extent,  the  place 
that  he  filled  in  the  universe — surely  he 
should  be  better  than  others,  be  wiser  and 
truer,  more  upright ;  in  a  word,  be  more 
moral  ?  But  can  any  man  claim,  in  good 
faith,  to  have  grasped  this  relation ;  and 
do  not  the  roots  of  the  most  positive 
morals  lie  hidden  beneath  some  kind  of 
mystic  unconsciousness?  Our  most  beau- 
tiful thought  does  no  more  than  pass 
through  our  intelligence ;  and  none  would 
imagine  that  the  harvest  must  have  been 
reaped  in  the  road  because  it  is  seen  pass- 
ing by.  When  reason,  however  precise,  sets 
forth  to  explore  her  domain,  every  step  that 
she  takes  is  over  the  border.  And  yet  is  it 
the  intellect  that  lends  the  first  touches  of 


82 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

beauty  to  thought ;  the  rest  lies  not  wholly 
with  us ;  but  this  rest  will  not  stir  into 
motion  until  intellect  touches  the  spring. 
Reason,  the  well-beloved  daughter  of  in- 
tellect, must  go  take  her  stand  on  the 
threshold  of  our  spiritual  life,  having  first 
flung  open  the  gates  of  the  prison  beneath, 
where  the  living,  instinctive  forces  of  being 
lie  captive,  asleep.  She  must  wait,  with 
the  lamp  in  her  hand ;  and  her  presence 
alone  shall  suffice  to  ward  off  from  the 
threshold  all  that  does  not  yet  conform 
with  the  nature  of  light.  Beyond,  in  the 
regions  unlit  by  her  rays,  obscure  life  con- 
tinues. This  troubles  her  not ;  indeed, 
she  is  glad.  .  .  .  She  knows  that, 
in  the  eyes  of  the  God  she  desires 
all  that  has  not  yet  crossed  her  arcade 
of  light — be  it  dream,  be  it  thought, 
even  act — can  add  nothing  to,  can  take 
nothing    from,    the     ideal    creature    she 

is  craving  to  mould.      She   watches  the 
83 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

flame  of  her  lamp ;  needs  must  it 
burn  brightly,  and  remain  at  its  post, 
and  be  seen  from  afar.  She  listens, 
untroubled,  to  the  murmur  of  inferior 
instincts  out  there  in  the  darkness.  But 
the  prisoners  slowly  awake ;  there  are 
some  who  draw  nigh  to-  the  threshold, 
and  their  radiance  is  greater  than  hers. 
There  flows  from  them  a  light  less 
material,  softer  and  purer  than  that  of 
the  bold,  hard  flame  which  her  hand- pro- 
tects. They  are  the  inscrutable  powers 
of  goodness  and  love ;  and  others  follow 
behind,  more  mysterious  still,  and  more 
infinite,  seeking  admission.  What  shall 
she  do  ?  If,  at  the  time  that  she  took  her 
stand  there  on  the  threshold,  she  had 
still  lacked  the  courage  to  learn  that  she 
could  not  exist  alone,  then  will  she  be 
troubled,  afraid ;  she  will  make  fast  the 
gates;  and  should  these  be  ever  re- 
opened, she  would  find  only  quivering 
84 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

cinders  at  the  foot  of  the  gloomy  stairs. 
But  if  her  strength  be  unshaken  ;  if  from 
all  that  she  could  not  learn  she  has 
learned,  at  least,  that  in  light  there  can 
never  be  danger,  and  that  reason  itself 
may  be  freely  staked  where  greater  bright- 
ness prevails — then  shall  ineffable  changes 
take  place  on  the  threshold,  from  lamp 
unto  lamp.  Drops  of  an  unknown  oil 
will  blend  with  the  oil  of  the  wisdom 
of  man ;  and  when  the  white  strangers 
have  passed,  the  flame  of  her  lamp  shall 
rise  higher,  transformed  for  all  time;  shall 
shed  purer  and  mightier  radiance  amidst 
the  columns  of  the  loftier  doorway. 

§  34. 

So    much    for    isolated    wisdom ;    now 

let  us  return  to  the  wisdom  that   moves 

to  the  grave  in  the  midst  of  the  mighty 

crowd     of     human     destinies ;     for     the 
85 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

destiny  of  the  sage  holds  not  aloof  from 
that   of  the  wicked    and  frivolous.     All 
destinies  are  for  ever  commingling ;    and 
the  adventure  is  rare   in  whose  web  the 
hempen     thread     blends     not     with     the 
golden.       There    are    misfortunes    more 
gradual,    less    frightful    of    aspect,    than 
those  that  befell  CEdipus  and  the  prince 
of  Elsinore ;    misfortunes  that   quail   not 
beneath   the  gaze   of  truth  or  justice  or 
love.     Those  who  speak  of  the  profit  of 
wisdom   are  never  so  wise  as  when  they 
freely    admit,    without    pride    or    heart- 
burning,   that    wisdom    grants    scarcely  a 
boon   to   her  faithful  that  the  foolish  or 
wicked  would  prize.     And  indeed,  it  may 
often  take  place  that  the  sage,  as  he  moves 
among  men,  shall  pass  almost  unnoticed, 
shall  affect  them  but  slightly ;  be  this  that 
his  stay  is  too  brief,  that   he   comes  too 
late,  that  he  misses  true  contact ;  or  per- 
chance that  he  has  to  contend  with  forces 
86 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

too  overwhelming,  amassed  by  myriad  men 

from  time  immemorial.     No  miracles  can 

he  perform   on   material  things ;    he    can 

save  only  that  which  life's  ordinary  laws 

still  allow  to  be   saved ;   and  himself,   it 

may  be,  shall  be  suddenly  seized  in  a  great 

inexorable   whirlwind.      But,    though   he 

perish  therein,  still  does  he  escape  the  fate 

that  is  common  to  most ;  for  at  least  he 

will  die  without  having  been  forced — for 

weeks,  or  it  may  be  for  years,  before  the 

catastrophe — to  be  the  helpless,  despairing 

witness  of  the  ruin  of  his  soul.     And  to 

save  some  one — if  we  admit  that  in  life 

there    are   truly  two  lives — does    not    of 

necessity  mean    that  we   save    him   from 

death '  and  disaster ;    but   indeed  that  we 

render  him   happier,  inasmuch  as  we  try 

to  improve  him.      Moral  salvntion  is  the 

greatest  salvation ;  and  yet,  what  a  trifle 

this  seems,   as  everything   seems   that    is 

done   on    the    loftiest    summits    of   soul. 
87 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

Was  the  penitent  thief  not  saved ;  and 
that  not  alone  in  the  Christian  sense  of 
the  word,  but  in  its  fullest,  most  perfect 
meaning  ?  Still  had  he  to  die,  and  at 
that  very  hour ;  but  he  died  eternally 
happy ;  because  at  the  very  last  moment 
he  too  had  been  loved,  and  a  Being  of 
infinite  wisdom  had  declared  that  his  soul 
had  not  been  without  value ;  that  his  soul, 
too,  had  been  good,  and  had  not  passed 
through  the  world  unperceived  of  all 
men. 

As  we  go  deeper  down  into  life  we 
discover  the  secret  of  more  and  more 
sorrow  and  helplessness.  We  see  that 
many  souls  round  us  lead  idle  and  foolish 
lives,  because  they  believe  they  are  useless, 
unnoticed  by  all,  unloved,  and  convinced 
they  have   nothing  within    them    that    is 

worthy  of  love.     But  to  the  sage  the  hour 

88 


Wisdom  and  Destiny  -: 

must  come  when  every  soul  that  exists  claims 
his  glance,  his  approval,  his  love — if  only 
because  it  possesses  the  mysterious  gift  of 
existence.  The  hour  must  come  when  he 
«ees  that  falsehood  and  weakness  and  vice  \ 
are  but  on  the  surface ;  when  his  eye  shall 
pierce  through,  and  discover  the  strength, 
and  the  truth,  and  the  virtue  that  lie 
underneath.  Happy  and  blessed  hour, 
when  wickedness  stands  forth  revealed  as 
goodness  bereft  of  its  guide  ;  and  treachery 
is  seen  to  be  loyalty,  for  ever  astray  from 
the  highway  of  happiness ;  and  hatred  be- 
comes only  love,  in  poignant  despair,  that 
is  digging  its  grave.  Then,  unsuspected 
of  any,  shall  it  be  with  all  those  who  are 
near  the  good  man  as  it  was  with  the 
penitent  thief;  into  the  humblest  soul 
that  will  thus  have  been  saved  by  a  look,  >/ 
or  a  word,  or  a  silence,  shall  the  true 
happiness  fall — the  happiness  fate  cannot 

touch  ;  that  brings  to  all  men  the  oblivion 
89 


Wisdom  and  Destiny- 
it  gave  unto  Socrates,  and  causes  each  one 
to  forget,  until  nightfall,  that  the  death- 
giving  cup  had  been  drained  ere  the  sun 
went  down. 

§36. 

The  inner  life,  perhaps,  is  not  what  we 

deem  it  to  be.     There  are  as  many  kinds 

of  inner  lives  as  there  are  of  external  lives. 

Into    these  tranquil   regions   the  smallest 

may  enter  as  readily  as  he  who  is  greatest, 

for  the  gate  that  leads  thither  is  not  always 

the  gate  of  the  intellect.     It  often  may 

happen  that  the  man  of  vast   knowledge 

shall  knock  at  this  gate  in  vain,  reply  being 

made  from  within  by  the  man  who  knows 

nothing.    The  inner  life  that  is  surest,  most 

lasting,  possessed  of  the  uttermost  beauty, 

must  needs  be  the  one  that  consciousness 

slowly  erects  in  itself,  with  the  aid  of  all 

that  is  purest  in  the  soul.     And  he  is  wise 

who  has  learned  that  this  life  should  be 
90 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

nourished  on  every  event  of  the  day:  he 
to  whom  deceit  or  betrayal  serves  but  to 
enhance  his  wisdom :  he  in  whom  evil  itself 
becomes  fuel  for  the  flame  of  love.  He 
is  wise  who  at  last  sees  in  suffering  only 
the  light  that  it  sheds  on  his  soul ;  and 
whose  eyes  never  rest  on  the  shadow  it 
casts  upon  those  who  have  sent  it  towards 
him.  And  wiser  still  is  the  man  to  whom 
sorrow  and  joy  not  only  bring  increase  of 
consciousness,  but  also  the  knowledge  that 
something  exists  superior  to  consciousness 
even.  To  have  reached  this  point  is  to 
reach  the  summit  of  inward  life,  whence 
at  last  we  look  down  on  the  flames  whose 
light  has  helped  our  ascent.  But  not  many 
can  climb  so  high  ;  and  happiness  may  be 
achieved  in  the  less  ardent  valley  below, 
where  the  flames  spring  darkly  to  life. 
And  there  are  existences  still  more  ob- 
scure which  yet  have  their  places  of  refuge. 
There  are  some  that  instinctively  fashion 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

inward  lives  for  themselves.  There  are 
some  that,  bereft  of  initiative  or  of 
intelligence,  never  discover  the  path  that 
leads  into  themselves,  and  are  never  aware 
of  all  that  their  refuge  contains ;  and 
yet  will  their  actions  be  wholly  the  same 
as  the  actions  of  those  whose  intellect 
weighs  every  treasure.  There  are  some 
who  desire  only  good,  though  they  know 
not  wherefore  they  desire  it,  and  have  no 
suspicion  that  goodness  is  the  one  fixed 
star  of  loftiest  consciousness.  The  inner 
life  begins  when  the  soul  becomes  good, 
and  not  when  the  intellect  ripens.  It  is 
somewhat  strange  that  this  inner  life  can 
never  be  formed  out  of  evil.  No  inner 
life  is  for  him  whose  soul  is  bereft  of  all  , 
nobleness.  He  may  have  full  knowledge 
of  self;  he  may  know,  it  may  be,  where- 
fore he  shuns  goodness ;  and  yet  shall  he 
seek  in  vain  for  the  refuge,  the  strength, 

the  treasure  of  invisible  gladness,  that  form 
92 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

the  possessions  of  him  who  can  fearlessly 
enter  his  heart.  For  the  inward  life  is 
built  up  of  a  certain  rejoicing  of  soul ; 
and  the  soul  can  never  be  happy  if  it 
possess  not,  and  love  not,  something  that 
is  pure.  It  may  perhaps  err  in  its  choice, 
but  then  even  will  it  be  happier  than  the 
soul  to  which  it  has  never  been  given  to 
choose. 


§37- 

And  thus  are  we  truly  saving  a  man 
if  we  bring  it  about  that  he  loves  evil 
somewhat  less  than  he  loved  it'  before ; 
for  we  are  helping  that  man  to  construct, 
deep  down  in  his  soul,  the  refuge  where- 
against  destiny  shall  brandish  her  weapons 
in  vain.  This  refuge  is  the  monument 
of  consciousness,  or,  it  may  be,  of  love ; 
for  love  is  nothing  but  consciousness,  still 
vaguely  in  search  of  itself;  and  veritable 

93 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

consciousness  nothing  but  love  that  at  last 
has  emerged  from  the  shadow.  And  it  is 
in  the  deepest  recess  of  this  refuge  that 
the  soul  shall  kindle  the  wondrous  fire 
of  her  joy.  And  this  joy  of  the  soul 
is  like  unto  no  other  joy ;  and  even  as 
material  fire  will  chase  away  deadly  disease 
from  the  earth,  so  will  the  joy  of  the  soul 
scatter  sorrow  that  malevolent  destiny 
brings.  It  arises  not  from  exterior  happi- 
ness ;  it  arises  not  from  satisfied  self-love ; 
for  the  joy  that  self-love  procures  becomes 
less  as  the  soul  becomes  nobler,  but  the 
joy  of  pure  love  increases  as  nobility  comes 
to  the  soul.  Nor  is  this  joy  born  of  pride  ; 
for  to  be  able  to  smile  at  its  beauty  is  not 
enough  to  bring  joy  to  the  soul.  The 
soul  that  has  sought  in  itself  has  the  right 
to  know  of  its  beauty ;  but  to  brood  on 
this  beauty  too  much,  to  become  over- 
conscious  thereof,  were  perhaps  to  detract 
somewhat  from  the  unconsciousness  of  its 

94 


I 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

love.  The  joy  that  I  speak  of  takes  not 
from  love  what  it  adds  unto  consciousness ; 
for  in  this  joy,  and  in  this  joy  alone,  do 
consciousness  and  love  become  one,  feed- 
ing each  on  the  other,  each  gaining  from 
that  which  it  gives.  The  striving  intellect 
may  welJ  know  happiness  beyond  the  reach 
of  the  satisfied  body ;  but  the  soul  that 
grows  nobler  has  joys  that  are  often 
denied  to  the  striving  intellect.  These 
two  will  often  unite  and  labour  together 
at  building  the  house  within.  But  still  it 
will  happen  at  times  that  both  work  apart, 
and  widely  different  then  are  the  structures 
each  will  erect.  And  were  this  to  be  so, 
and  the  being  I  loved  best  of  all  in  the 
world  came  and  asked  me  which  he  should 
choose — which  refuge  I  held  to  be  most 
unattackable,  sweetest,  profoundest  —  I 
would  surely  advise  him  to  shelter  his 
destiny  in  the  refuge  of  the  soul  that 
grows  nobler. 

'  95 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 


§38. 

Is  the  sage  never  to  suffer  ?  Shall  no 
storm  ever  break  on  the  roof  of  his  dwell- 
ing, no  traps  be  laid  to  ensnare  him  ? 
Shall  wife  and  friends  never  fail  him? 
Must  his  father  not  die,  and  his  mother, 
his  brothers,  his  sons— must  all  these  not 
die  like  the  rest  ?  Shall  angels  stand 
guard  at  each  highway  through  which 
sorrow  can  pass  into  man  ?  Did  not 
Christ  Himself  weep  as  He  stood  be- 
fore Lazarus'  tomb  ?  Had  not  Marcus 
Aurelius  to  suffer  —  from  Commodus, 
the  son  who  already  showed  signs  of 
the  monster  he  was  to  become ;  from 
Faustina,  the  wife  whom  he  loved,  but 
who  cared  not  for  him  ?  Was  not  destiny's 
hand  laid  heavy  on  Paulus  iEmilius,  who 
was  fully  as  wise   as  Timoleon  ?  did  not 

both  his  sons  die,  one  five  days  before  his 
96 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

triumph  in  Rome,  and  the  other  but  three 
days  after  ?  What  becomes  of  the  refuge, 
then,  where  wisdom  keeps  watch  over 
happiness?  Must  we  take  back  all  we 
have  said  ?  and  is  wisdom  yet  one  more 
illusion,  by  whose  aid  the  soul  would 
fain  conciliate  reason,  and  justify  cravings 
that  experience  is  sure  to  reject  as  being 
opposed  to  reason  ? 

§39. 

Nay,  in  truth,  the  sage  too  must  suffer. 
He  suffers ;  and  suffering  forms  a  con- 
stituent part  of  his  wisdom.  He  will 
suffer,  perhaps,  more  than  most  men,  for 
that  his  nature  is  far  more  complete.  And 
being  nearer  to  all  mankind,  as  the  wise 
ever  must  be,  his  suffering  will  be  but  the 
greater,  for  the  sorrows  of  others  are  his. 
He  will  suffer  in  his  flesh,  in  his  heart,  in 

his  spirit ;  for  there  are  sides  in  all  these 
97  G 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

that  no  wisdom  on  earth  can  dispute  against 
destiny.  And  so  he  accepts  his  suffering, 
but  is  not  discouraged  thereby;  not  for 
him  are  the  chains  that  it  fastens  on  those 
who  cringe  down  before  it,  unaware  that 
it  is  but  a  messenger  sent  by  a  mightier 
personage,  whom  a  bend  in  the  road  hides 
from  view.  Needs  must  the  sage,  like  his 
neighbour,  be  startled  from  sleep  by  the 
shouts  of  the  truculent  envoy,  by  the  blows 
at  the  door  that  cause  the  whole  house  to 
tremble.  He,  too,  must  go  down  and  par- 
ley. But  yet,  as  he  listens,  his  eyes  are  not 
fixed  on  this  bringer  of  evil  tidings;  his 
glance  will  at  times  be  lifted  over  the  mes- 
senger's shoulder,  will  scan  the  dust  on 
the  horizon  in  search  of  the  mighty  idea 
that  perhaps  may  be  near  at  hand.  And 
indeed,  when  our  thoughts  rest  on  fate, 
at  such  times  as  happiness  enfolds  us,  we 
feel  that  no  great  misfortune  can  be  sud- 
denly burst  upon  us.  The  proportions 
98 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

will  change,  it  is  true,  when  the  blow 
falls ;  but  it  is  equally  true  that  before 
the  misfortune  can  wholly  destroy  the 
abiding  courage  within  us,  it  first  must 
triumph  in  our  heart  over  all  we  adore, 
over  all  we  admire,  and  love.  And  what 
alien  power  can  expel  from  our  soul  a 
feeling  and  thought  that  we  hurl  not  our- 
selves from  its  throne  ?  Physical  suffering 
apart,  not  a  single  sorrow  exists  that  can 
touch  us  except  through  our  thoughts;  and 
whence  do  our  thoughts  derive  the  wea- 
pons wherewith  they  attack  or  defend  us? 
We  suffer  but  little  from  suffering  itself; 
but  from  the  manner  wherein  we  accept 
it  overwhelming  sorrow  may  spring.  "  His 
unhappiness  was  caused  by  himself,"  said 
a  thinker  of  one  whose  eyes  never  looked 
over  the  brutal  messenger's  shoulder — "  his 
unhappiness  was  caused  by  himself;  for  all 
misery  is  inward,  and  caused  by  ourselves. 

We  are  wrong  in  believing  that  it  comes 
99 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

from  without.      For  indeed  we  create  it 
within  us,  out  of  our  very  substance." 

§  40. 

It  is  only  in  the  manner  of  our  facing 
the  event  that  its  active  force  consists. 
Assemble  ten  men  who,  like  Paulus 
iEmilius,  have  lost  both  their  sons  at 
the  moment  when  life  seemed  sweetest, 
then  will  the  misfortune  appear  to  vary 
in  every  one.  Misfortune  enters  within 
us,  but  must  of  necessity  yield  obedience 
to  all  our  commands.  Even  as  the  order 
may  be  that  it  finds  inscribed  on  the  thres- 
hold, so  will  it  sow,  or  destroy,  or  reap. 
If  my  neighbour,  a  commonplace  man, 
were  to  lose  his  two  sons  at  the  moment 
when  fate  had  granted  his  dearest  desires, 
then  would  darkness  steal  over  all,  un- 
relieved by  a  glimmer  of  light ;  and  mis- 
fortune itself,  contemptuous  of  its  too 
100 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

facile  success,  would  leave  naught  behind 
but  a  handful  of  colourless  cinders.  Nor 
is  it  necessary  for  me  to  see  my  neighbour 
'again  to  be  aware  that  his  sorrow  will 
have  brought  to  him  pettiness  only ;  for 
sorrow  does  merely  restore  to  us  that 
which  our  soul  had  lent  in  happier  days. 


§41. 

But  this  was  the  misfortune  that  befell 
Paulus  ^milius.  Rome,  still  aglow  with 
his  triumph,  waited,  dismayed,  wondering 
what  was  to  happen.  Were  the  gods 
defying  the  sage,  and  how  would  the  sage 
reply  ?  Would  the  hero  be  crushed  by 
his  sorrow,  or  would  sorrow  acknowledge 
its  master.^  Mankind,  at  moments  like 
these,  seems  aware  that  destiny  is  yet  once 
again  making  trial  of  the  strength  of  her 
arm,  and  that  change  of  some  kind  must 
befall    if  her   blow   crush    not   where   it 

lOI 


'Wisdom  and  Destiny 

alights.  And  see  with  what  eagerness 
men  at  such  moments  will  question  the 
eyes  of  their  chiefs  for  the  password 
against  the  invisible. 

But  Paulus  iEmilius  has  gathered  to- 
gether an  assembly  of  the  people  of  Rome  ; 
he  advances  gravely  towards  them,  and 
thus  does  he  speak :  "  I,  who  never  yet 
feared  anything  that  was  human,  have, 
amongst  such  as  were  divine,  always  had 
a  dread  of  fortune  as  faithless  and  incon- 
stant ;  and,  for  the  very  reason  that  in  this 
war  she  had  been  as  a  favourable  gale  in 
all  my  affairs,  I  still  expected  some  change 
and  reflux  of  things.  In  one  day  I  passed 
the  Ionian  Sea,  and  reached  Corcyra  from 
Brundisium ;  thence  in  five  more  I  sacri- 
ficed at  Delphi,  and  in  other  five  days 
came  to  my  forces  in  Macedonia,  where, 
after  I  had  finished  the  usual  sacrifices  for 
the  purifying  of  the  army,  I  entered  on 
my  duties,  and  in  the  space  of  fifteen  days 


102 


Wisdom  and  Destiny- 
put  an  honourable  period  to  the  war. 
Still  retaining  a  jealousy  of  fortune,  even 
from  the  smooth  current  of  my  affairs, 
and  seeing  myself  secure  and  free  from 
the  danger  of  any  enemy,  I  chiefly  dreaded 
the  change  of  the  goddess  at  sea,  whilst 
conveying  home  my  victorious  army,  vast 
spoils,  and  a  captive  king.  Nay,  indeed, 
after  I  was  returned  to  you  safe,  and  saw 
the  city  full  of  joy,  congratulating,  and 
sacrifices,  yet  still  I  distrusted,  well  know- 
ing that  fortune  never  conferred  any  great 
benefits  that  were  unmixed  and  unattended 
with  probabilities  of  reverse.  Nor  could 
my  mind,  that  was  still  as  it  were  in  labour, 
and  always  foreseeing  something  to  befall 
this  city,  free  itself  from  this  fear,  until 
this  great  misfortune  befell  me  in  my  own 
family,  and  till,  in  the  midst  of  those  days 
set  apart  for  triumph,  I  carried  two  of  the 
best  of  sons,  my  only  destined  successors, 

one  after  another  to  their  funerals.     Now, 
103 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

therefore,  I  am  myself  safe  from  danger, 
at  least  as  to  what  was  my  greatest  care ; 
and  I  trust  and  am  verily  persuaded  that, 
for  the  time  to  come,  fortune  will  prove 
constant  and  harmless  unto  you ;  since 
she  has  sufficiently  wreaked  her  jealousy 
at  our  great  successes  on  me  and  mine, 
and  has  made  the  conqueror  as  marked 
an  example  of  human  instability  as  the 
captive  whom  he  led  in  triumph,  with 
this  only  difference,  that  Perseus,  though 
conquered,  does  yet  enjoy  his  children, 
while  the  conqueror  iEmilius  is  deprived 
of  his." 

§  42. 

This  was  the  Roman  fashion  of  accept- 
ing the  greatest  sorrow  that  can  befall 
a  man  at  the  moment  when  sorrow  is 
felt  the  most  keenly — at  the  moment  of 
his   greatest   happiness.      And    there    are 

many  ways    of  accepting  misfortune — as 
104 


Wisdom  and  Destiiiy^'^ 

many,  indeed,  as  there  are  generous  feelings 
or  thoughts  to  be  found  on  the  earth ; 
and  every  one  of  those  thoughts,  every  one 
of  those  feelings,  has  a  magic  wand  that 
transforms,  on  the  threshold,  the  features 
and  vestments  of  sorrow.  Job  would  have 
said,  "  The  Lord  gave  and  the  Lord  hath 
taken  away :  blessed  be  the  name  of  the 
Lord " ;  and  Marcus  Aurelius  perhaps, 
"If  it  be  no  longer  allowed  me  to  love 
those  I  loved  high  above  all,  it  is  doubt- 
less that  I  may  learn  to  love  those  whom 
I  love  not  yet." 

§43. 

And  let  us  not  think  that  these  are 
mere  empty  words  wherewith  they  con- 
sole themselves,  words  that  in  vain  seek 
to  hide  the  wound  that  bleeds  but  the 
more  for  the  effort.  But  if  it  were  so, 
if  empty  words  could  console,  that  surely 


Wisdom  and  Destiny- 
were  better  than  to  be  bereft  of  all  con- 
solation. And  further,  if  we  have  to 
admit  that  all  this  is  illusion,  must  we 
not,  in  mere  justice,  also  admit  that  illu- 
sion is  the  solitary  thing  that  the  soul 
can  possess ;  and  in  the  name  of  what 
other  illusion  shall  we  venture  to  rate 
this  illusion  so  lightly?  Ah,  when  the 
night  falls  and  the  great  sages  I  speak 
of  go  back  to  their  lonely  dwelling,  and 
look  on  the  chairs  round  the  hearth  where 
their  children  once  were,  but  never  shall 
be  again — then,  truly,  can  they  not  escape 
some  part  of  the  sorrow  that  comes,  over- 
whelming, to  those  whose  suffering  no 
noble  thought  chastens.  For  it  were 
wrong  to  attribute  to  beautiful  feeling 
and  thought  a  virtue  they  do  not  possess. 
There  are  external  tears  that  they  cannot 
restrain ;  there  are  holy  hours  when  wis- 
dom   cannot   yet    console.     But,  for   the 

last  time  let  us  say  it,  suffering  we  cannot 
io6 


Wisdom  and  Destiny- 
avoid,  for  suffering  there  ever  must  be ; 
still  does  it  rest  with  ourselves  to  choose 
what  our  suffering  shall  bring.  And 
let  us  not  think  that  this  choice,  which 
the  eye  cannot  see,  is  truly  a  very  small 
matter,  and  helpless  to  comfort  a  sorrow 
whose  cause  the  eyes  never  cease  to  be- 
hold. Out  of  small  matters  like  these 
are  all  moral  joys  built  up,  and  these  are 
profounder  far  than  intellectual  or  physical 
joys.  Translate  into  words  the  feeling 
that  spurs  on  the  hero,  and  how  trivial  it 
seems !  Insignificant  too  does  the  idea  of 
duty  appear  that  Cato  the  younger  had 
formed,  when  compared  with  the  enormous 
disturbance  it  caused  in  a  mighty  empire, 
or  the  terrible  death  it  brought  on.  And 
yet,  was  not  Cato's  idea  far  greater  than 
the  disturbance,  or  death,  that  ensued  ? 
Do  we  not  feel,  even  now,  that  Cato  was 
right  ?     And  was    not    his    life  rendered 

truly  and  nobly  happy,  thanks  to  this  very 
107 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

idea,  that  the  reason  of  man  will  not  even 
consider,  so  unreasonable  does  it  appear  ? 
All  that  ennobles  our  life,  all  that  we 
respect  in  ourselves,  the  mainsprings  of 
our  virtue,  the  limits  that  feeling  will 
even  impose  upon  vices  or  crimes — all 
these  appear  veriest  trifles  when  viewed  by 
the  cold  eye  of  reason ;  and  yet  do  they 
fashion  the  laws  that  govern  every  man's 
life.  Would  life  be  endurable  if  we  did  not 
obey  many  truths  that  our  reason  rejects  ? 
The  wretchedest  even  obeys  one  of  these  ^ 
and  the  more  truths  there  are  that  he  yields 
to,  the  less  wretched  does  he  become. 
The  assassin  will  tell  you,  "  I  murder,  it 
is  true,  but  at  least  do  not  steal."  And 
he  who  has  stolen  steals,  but  does  not 
betray ;  and  he  who  betrays  would  at  least 
not  betray  his  brother.  And  thus  does 
each  one  cling  for  refuge  to  his  last  frag- 
ment of  spiritual  beauty.      No  man  can 

have  fallen  so  low  but  he  still  has  a  retreat 
loS 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

in  his  soul,  where  he  ever  shall  find  a 
few  drops  of  pure  water,  and  be  girt  up 
anew  with  the  strength  that  he  needs  to 
go  on  with  his  life.  For  here  again 
reason  is  helpless,  unable  to  comfort ; 
she  must  halt  on  the  threshold  of  the 
thiefs  last  asylum,  even  as  she  must  halt 
on  the  threshold  of  Job's  resignation,  of 
the  love  of  Marcus  Aurelius,  of  the  sac- 
rifice made  by  Antigone.  She  halts,  is 
bewildered,  she  does  not  approve ;  and 
yet  knows  full  well  that  to  rise  in  revolt 
were  only  to  combat  the  light  whereof 
she  is  shadow ;  for  amidst  all  this  she  is 
but  as  one  who  stands  with  the  sun  full 
upon  him.  His  shadow  is  there  at  his 
feet ;  as  he  moves,  it  will  follow ;  as  he 
rises  or  stoops,  its  outline  will  alter ;  but 
this  shadow  is  all  he  commands,  that  he 
masters,  possesses,  of  the  dazzling  light 
that  enfolds  him.  And  so  has  reason  her 
being,  too,  beneath  a  superior  light,  and 

IC9 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

the  shadow  cannot  afFect  the  calm,  unvary- 
ing splendour.  Far  distant  as  Marcus 
Aurelius  may  be  from  the  traitor,  it  is 
still  from  the  selfsame  well  that  they  both 
draw  the  holy  water  that  freshens  their 
soul ;  and  this  well  is  not  to  be  found  in 
the  intellect.  For,  strangely  enough,  it 
is  not  in  our  reason  that  moral  life  has 
its  being ;  and  he  who  would  let  reason 
govern  his  life  would  be  the  most  wretched 
of  men.  There  is  not  a  virtue,  a  beauti- 
ful thought,  or  a  generous  deed,  but  has 
most  of  its  roots  hidden  far  away  from 
that  which  can  be  understood  or  ex- 
plained. Well  might  man  be  proud  could 
he  trace  every  virtue,  and  joy,  and  his 
whole  inward  life,  to  the  one  thing  he 
truly  possesses,  the  one  thing  on  which  he 
can  depend — in  a  word,  to  his  reason.  But 
do  what  he  will,  the  smallest  event  that 
arrives  will  quickly  convince  him  that 
reason    is    wholly    unable    to    offer   him 


no 


Wisdom  and  Destiny- 
shelter  ;  for  in  truth  we  are  beings  quite 
other  than  merely  reasonable  creatures. 


§  44. 

But  if  it  be  not  our  reason  that  chooses 
what  suffering  shall  bring  us,  whereby  is 
the  choice  then  made  ?  By  the  life  we 
have  lived  till  then,  the  life  that  has 
moulded  our  soul.  Wisdom  matures  but 
slowly;  her  fruits  shall  not  quickly  be 
gathered.  If  my  life  has  not  been  as  that 
of  Paulus  iEmilius,  there  shall  be  no 
comfort  for  me  in  the  thoughts  whereby 
he  was  consoled,  not  though  every  sage  in 
the  world  were  to  come  and  repeat  them 
to  me.  The  angels  that  dry  our  eyes  bear 
the  form  and  the  features  of  all  we  have 
said  and  thought — above  all,  of  what  we 
have  done,  prior  to  the  hour  of  misfortune. 
When  Thomas  Carlyle  (a  sage,  although 
somewhat  morbid)  lost  the  wife  he  had 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

tenderly  loved,  with  whom  he  had  lived 
forty  years,  then  did  his  sorrow  too,  with 
marvellous  exactness,  become  as  had  been 
the  bygone  life  of  his  love.  And  there- 
fore was  this  sorrow  of  his  majestic  and 
vast ;  consoling  and  torturing  alike  in  the 
midst  of  his  self-reproach,  his  regret,  and 
his  tenderness — as  might  be  meditation 
or  prayer  on  the  shore  of  a  gloomy  sea. 
In  the  sorrow  that  floods  our  heart  we 
have,  as  it  were,  a  synthetic  presentment 
of  all  the  days  that  are  gone ;  and  as  these 
were,  so  shall  our  sorrow  be  poignant,  or 
tender  and  gentle.  If  there  be  in  my  life 
no  noble  or  generous  deeds  that  memory 
can  bring  back  to  me,  then,  at  the  inevitable 
moment  when  memory  melts  into  tears, 
must  these  tears,  too,  be  bereft  of  all  that 
is  generous  or  noble.  For  tears  in  them- 
selves have  no  colour,  that  they  may  the 
better  reflect  the  past  life  of  our  soul ;  and 
this   reflection  becomes  our  chastisement 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

or  our  reward.  There  is  but  one  thing 
that  never  can  turn  into  suffering,  and 
that  is  the  good  we  have  done.  When  we 
lose  one  we  love,  our  bitterest  tears  are 
called  forth  by  the  memory  of  hours  when 
we  loved  not  enough.  If  we  always  had 
smiled  on  the  one  who  is  gone,  there 
would  be  no  despair  in  our  grief;  and 
some  sweetness  would  cling  to  our  tears, 
reminiscent  of  virtues  and  happiness.  For 
our  recollections  of  veritable  love — which 
indeed  is  the  act  of  virtue  containing  all 
others  —  call  from  our  eyes  the  same 
sweet,  tender  tears  as  those  most  beautiful 
hours  wherein  memory  was  born.  Sorrow 
is  just,  above  all ;  and  even  as  the  cast 
stands  ready  awaiting  the  molten  bronze, 
so  is  our  whole  life  expectant  of  the  hour 
of  sorrow,  for  it  is  then  we  receive  our 
wage. 


"3 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 


§45- 

Here,  standing  close  to  the  mightiest 
pillar  of  destiny's  throne,  we  may  see 
once  again  how  restricted  her  power  be- 
comes on  such  as  surpass  her  in  wisdom. 
For  she  is  barbarian  still,  and  many  men 
tower  above  her.  The  commonplace  life 
still  supplies  her  with  weapons,  which  to- 
day are  old-fashioned  and  crude.  Her 
mode  of  attack,  in  exterior  life,  is  as  it 
always  has  been,  as  it  was  in  QEdipus' 
days.  She  shoots  like  a  blear-eyed  bow- 
man, aiming  straight  ahead  of  her ;  but  if 
the  target  be  raised  somewhat  higher  than 
usual,  her  arrows  fall  harmless  to  earth. 

Suffering,  sorrow,  tears,  regrets — these 

words,  that  vary  so  slightly  in  meaning, 

are  names  that  we  give  to  emotions  which 

in  no  two  men  are  alike.     If  we  probe  to 

the  heart  of  these  words,  these  emotions, 
114 


I 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

we  find  they  are  only  the  track  that  is 
left  by  our  faults ;  and  there  where  these 
faults  were  noble  (for  there  are  noble 
faults  as  there  are  mean  or  trivial  virtues) 
our  sorrow  will  be  nearer  akin  to  veritable 
happiness  than  the  happiness  of  those 
whose  consciousness  still  is  confined  within 
narrowest  limits.  Would  Carlyle  have 
desired  to  exchange  the  magnificent  sorrow 
that  flooded  his  soul,  and  blossomed  so 
tenderly  there,  for  the  conjugal  joys,  super- 
ficial and  sunless,  of  his  happiest  neighbour 
in  Chelsea  ?  And  was  not  Ernest  Kenan's 
grief,  when  Henriette,  his  sister,  died, 
more  grateful  to  the  soul  than  the  absence 
of  grief  in  the  thousands  of  others  who 
have  no  love  to  give  to  a  sister  ?  Shall 
our  pity  go  forth  to  him  who,  at  times, 
will  weep  on  the  shore  of  an  infinite  sea, 
or  to  the  other  who  smiles  all  his  life, 
without  cause,  alone  in  his  little  room  ? 
"  Happiness,  sorrow  "  —  could  we  only 
"5 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

escape  from  ourselves  for  one  instant  and 
taste  of  the  hero's  sadness,  would  there 
be  many  content  to  return  to  their  own 
superficial  delights  ? 

Do  happiness  and  sorrow,  then,  only 
exist  in  ourselves,  and  that  even  when 
they  seem  to  come  from  without  ?  All 
that  surrounds  us  will  turn  to  angel 
or  devil,  according  as  our  heart  may 
be.  Joan  of  Arc  held  communion  with 
saints,  Macbeth  with  witches,  and  yet 
were  the  voices  the  same.  The  destiny 
whereat  we  murmur  may  be  other,  per- 
haps, than  we  think.  She  has  only  the 
weapons  we  give  her ;  she  is  neither  just 
nor  unjust,  nor  does  it  lie  in  her  province 
to  deliver  sentence  on  man.  She  whom 
we  take  to  be  goddess  is  a  disguised 
messenger  only,  come  very  simply  to  warn 
us  on  certain  days  of  our  life  that  the 
hour  has  sounded  at  last  when  we  needs 
must  judge  ourselves. 

ii6 


I 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

§46. 

Men  of  inferior  degree,  it  is  true,  are 
not  given  to  judging  themselves,  and 
therefore  is  it  that  fate  passes  judgment 
upon  them.  They  are  the  slaves  of 
a  destiny  of  almost  unvarying  sternness, 
for  it  is  only  when  man  has  been  judged 
by  himself  that  destiny  can  be  trans- 
formed. Men  such  as  these  will  not 
master,  or  alter  within  them,  the  event 
that  they  meet ;  nay,  they  themselves 
become  morally  transformed  by  the  very 
first  thing  that  draws  near  them.  If 
misfortune  befall  them,  they  grovel  before 
it  and  stoop  down  to  its  level ;  and  mis- 
fortune, with  them,  would  seem  always 
to  wear  its  poorest  and  commonest  aspect. 
They  see  the  finger  of  fate  in  every  least 
thing  that  may  happen — be  it  choice  of 

profession,  a  friendship  that  greets  them, 
H7 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

a  woman  who  passes,  and  smiles.  To 
them  chance  and  destiny  always  are  one ; 
but  chance  will  be  seldom  propitious  if 
accepted  as  destiny.  Hostile  forces  at 
once  take  possession  of  all  that  is  vacant 
within  us,  nor  filled  by  the  strength  of 
our  soul ;  and  whatever  is  void  in  the 
heart  or  the  mind  becomes  a  fountain  of 
fatal  influence.  The  Margaret  of  Goethe 
and  Ophelia  of  Shakespeare  had  perforce 
to  yield  meekly  to  fate,  for  they  were  so 
feeble  that  each  gesture  they  witnessed 
seemed  fate's  own  gesture  to  them. 
But  yet,  had  they  only  possessed  some 
fragment  of  Antigone's  strength — the  Anti- 
gone of  Sophocles — would  they  not  then 
have  transformed  the  destinies  of  Ham- 
let and  Faust  as  well  as  their  own  ?  And 
if  Othello  had  taken  Corneille's  Pauline 
to  wife  and  not  Desdemona,  would 
Desdemona's  destiny  then,  all  else  remain- 
ing unchanged,  have  dared  to  come  within 

ii8 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

reach  of  the  enlightened  love  of  Pauline  ? 
Where  was  it,  in  body  or  soul,  that  grim 
fatality  lurked  ?  And  though  the  body 
may  often  be  powerless  to  add  to  its 
strength,  can  this  ever  be  true  of  the 
soul  ?  Indeed,  the  more  that  we  think 
of  it,  the  clearer  does  it  become  that 
there  could  be  one  destiny  only  that 
might  truly  be  said  to  triumph  over 
man,  the  one  that  might  have  the  power 
loudly  to  cry  unto  all,  "  From  this  day 
onward  there  shall  come  no  more  strength 
to  thy  soul,  neither  strength  nor  ennoble- 
ment." But  is  there  a  destiny  in  the 
world  empowered  to  hold  such  language  ? 

§47. 

And  yet  virtue  often  is  chastised,  and 

the  advent  of  misfortune  hastened,  by  the 

soul's  very  strength ;  for  the  greater  our 

love    may    be,    the    greater    the    surface 
119 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

becomes  we  expose  to  majestic  sorrow; 
wherefore  none  the  less  does  the  sage 
never  cease  his  endeavours  to  enlarge  this 
beautiful  surface.  Yes,  it  must  be  ad- 
mitted, destiny  is  not  always  content  to 
crouch  in  the  darkness ;  her  ice-cold  hands 
will  at  times  go  prowling  in  the  light, 
and  seize  on  more  beautiful  victims.  The 
tragic  name  of  Antigone  has  already 
escaped  me ;  and  there  will,  doubtless, 
be  many  will  say,  "  She  surely  fell  victim 
to  destiny,  all  her  great  force  notwith- 
standing ;  and  is  she  not  the  instance  we 
long  have  been  seeking  in  vain  ^ "  It 
cannot  be  gainsaid :  Antigone  fell  into 
the  hands  of  the  ruthless  goddess,  for  the 
reason  that  there  lay  in  her  soul  three 
•times  the  strength  of  any  ordinary  woman. 
She  died;  for  fate  had  contrived  it  so 
that  she  had  to  choose  between  death  and 
what  seemed  to  her  a  sister's  imperative 
duty.     She  suddenly  found  herself  wedged 

120 


I 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

between  death  and  love — love  of  the 
purest  and  most  disinterested  kind,  its 
object  being  a  shade  she  would  never 
behold  on  earth.  And  if  destiny  thus 
was  enabled  to  lure  her  into  the  mur- 
derous angle  that  duty  and  death  had 
formed,  it  was  only  because  her  soulj 
that  was  loftier  far  than  the  soul  of 
the  others,  saw,  stretching  before  it,  the 
insurmountable  barrier  of  duty — that  her 
poor  sister  Ismene  could  not  see,  even 
when  it  was  shown  her.  And,  at  that 
moment,  as  they  both  stood  there  on  the 
threshold  of  the  palace,  the  same  voices 
spoke  to  them ;  Antigone  listening  only 
to  the  voice  from  above,  wherefore  she 
died ;  Ismene  unconscious  of  any  save 
that  which  came  from  below — and  she 
lived.  But  instil  into  Antigone's  soul 
something  of  the  weakness  that  paralysed 
Ophelia  and  Margaret,  would  destiny  then 
have  thought  it  of  service  to  beckon  to 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

death  as  the  daughter  of  CEdipus  issued 
from  the  doorway  of  Creon's  palace  ?  It 
was^  therefore,  solely  because  of  the 
strength  of  her  souj  that  "clestiny  was 
able  to  triumph.  And,  indeed,  it  is  this 
^hat  consoles  the  wise  and  the  just — the 
heroes ;  destiny  can  vanquish  them  only 
by  the  good  she  compels  them  to  do. 
Other  men  are  like  cities  with  hundred 
gates,  that  she  finds  unguarded  and  open ; 
but  the  upright  man  is  a  fortified  city, 
with  the  one  gate  only — of  light ;  and 
this  gate  remains  closed  till  love  be  in- 
duced to  knock,  and  to  crave  admission. 
Other  men  she  compels  to  obey  her ;  and 
destiny,  doing  her  will,  wills  nothing  but 
evil;  but  would  she  subdue  the  upright, 
she  needs  must  desire  noble  acts.  Darkness 
then  will  no  longer  enwrap  her  approach. 
The  upright  man  is  secure  in  the  light  that 
enfolds  him ;  and  only  by  a  light  more 
ra4iant    still    can    she    hope    to    prevail. 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

Destiny  then  will  become  more  beautiful 
still  than  her  victim.  Ordinary  men  she 
will  place  between  personal  sorrow  -  and 
the  misfortune  of  others;  but  to  master 
the  hero  or  saint,  she  must  cause  him  to 
choose  between  the  happiness  of  others 
and  the  grief  that  shall  fall  on  himself. 
Ordinary  men  she  lays  siege  to  with  the 
aid  of  all  that  is  ugly ;  against  the  others 
she  perforce  must  enlist  whatever  is  noblest 
on  earth.  Against  the  first  she  has  thou- 
sands of  weapons,  the  very  stones  in  the 
road  becoming  engines  of  mischief;  but 
the  others,  she  can  only  attack  with  one 
irresistible  sword,  the  gleaming  sword  of 
duty  and  truth.  In  Antigone's  story  is 
found  the  whole  tale  of  destiny's  empire 
on  wisdom.  Jesus  who  died  for  us, 
Curtius  who  leaped  into  the  gulf,  Socrates 
who  refused  to  desist  from  his  teaching, 
the  sister  of  charity  who  yields  up  her  life 

to  tending  the  sick,  the  humble  wayfarer 
123 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

who  perishes  seeking  to  rescue  his  fellows 
from  death — all  these  have  been  forced 
to  choose,  all  these  bear  the  mark 
of  Antigone's  glorious  wound  on  their 
breast.  For  truly  those  who  live  in  the 
light  have  their  magnificent  perils  also ; 
and  wisdom  has  danger  for  such  as  shrink, 
from  self-sacrifice,  though  it  may.be^that 
they  who  shrink  from  self-sacrifice  are 
perhaps  not  very  wise. 


§48. 

Pronounce  the  word  "  destiny,"  and  in 

the  minds  of  all  men  an  image  arises  of 

gloom  and  of  terror — of  death.     In  their 

thoughts  they  regard   it,  instinctively,  as 

the  lane  that  leads  straight  to  the  tomb. 

Most  often,  indeed,  it  is  only  the  name 

that  they  give  unto  death,  when  its  hand 

is  not  visible  yet.    It  is  death  that  looms  in 

the  future,  the  shadow  of  death  upon  life. 
124 


I 


Wisdom  and  Destirf^^.£^^s£^ 

"None  can  escape  his  destiny"  we  often 
exclaim  when  we  hear  of  death  lying  in 
wait  for  the  traveller  at  the  bend  of  the 
road.  But  were  the  traveller  to  encounter 
happiness  instead,  we  would  never  ascribe 
this  to  destiny ;  if  we  did,  we  should  have 
in  our  mind  a  far  different  goddess.  And 
yet,  are  not  joys  to  be  met  with  on  the 
highways  of  life  that  are  greater  than  any 
misfortune,  more  momentous  even  than 
death  ?  May  a  happiness  not  be  en- 
countered that  the  eye  cannot  see  ?  and  is 
it  not  of  the  nature  of  happiness  to  be 
less  manifest  than  misfortune,  to  become 
ever  less  apparent  to  the  eye  as  it  reaches 
loftier  heights  .f^  But  to  this  we  refuse 
to  pay  heed.  The  whole  village,  the 
town,  will  flock  to  the  spot  where  some 
wretched  adventure  takes  place ;  but  there 
are  none  will  pause  for  an  instant  and 
let  their  eyes  rest  on  a  kiss,  or  a  vision 
of  beauty  that  gladdens  the  soul,  a  ray 

125 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

of  love  that  illumines  the  heart.  And 
yet  may  the  kiss  be  productive  of  joy 
no  less  great  than  the  pain  that  follows 
a  wound.  We  are  unjust ;  we  never 
associate  destiny  with  happiness;  and  if 
we  do  not  regard  it  as  being  inseparable 
from  death,  it  is  only  to  connect  it  with 
disaster  even  greater  than  death  itself. 

§49. 

Were    I    to    refer    to    the    destiny   of 

CEdipus,  Joan  of  Arc,  Agamemnon,  you 

would  give  not  a  thought  to  their  lives, 

but  only  behold  the  last  moments  of  all, 

the     pathway    of    death.       You     would 

stoutly  maintain    that   their   destiny   was 

of  the  saddest,  for   that    their   end    was 

sad.      You    forget,    however,    that   death 

can  never  be  happy ;    but  nevertheless  it 

is  thus  we  are  given  to  judging  of  life. 

It  is  as  though  death  swallowed  all ;  and 
126 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

should  accident  suddenly  end  thirty  years 
of  unclouded  joy,  the  thirty  years  would 
be  hidden  away  from  our  eyes  by  the 
pfloom  of  one  sorrowful  hour. 


§50- 

It   is  wrong   to  think   of  destiny  only 

in    connection   with    death    and    disaster. 

When  shall  we  cease  to  believe  that  death, 

and  not  life,  is  important ;  that  misfortune 

is  greater  than   happiness  ?      Why,  when 

we  try  to  sum  up  a  man's  destiny,  keep 

our  eyes  fixed  only  on  the  tears  that  he 

shed,  and  never  on  the  smiles  of  his  joy  ^ 

Where   have  we  learned  that  death  fixes 

the   value   of  life,  and    not    life  that    of 

death  ?      We     deplore     the     destiny     of 

Socrates,    Duncan,    Antigone,    and'    many 

others  whose  lives  were  noble  ;  we  deplore 

their  destiny  because  their  end  was  sudden 

and  cruel ;  and  we  are  fain  to  admit  that 
127 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

misfortune  prevails  over  wisdom  and  virtue 
alike.  But,  first  of  all,  you  yourself  are 
neither  just  nor  wise  if  you  seek  in  wisdom 
and  justice  aught  else  but  wisdom  and 
justice  alone.  And  further,  what  right 
have  we  thus  to  sum  up  an  entire  exis- 
tence in  the  one  hour  of  death  ?  Why 
conclude,  from  the  fact  that  Socrates  and 
Antigone  met  with  unhappy  ends,  that  it 
was  their  wisdom  or  virtue  brought  un- 
happiness  to  them  ?  Does  death  occupy 
more  space  in  life  than  birth  ^  Yet  do  you 
not  take  the  sage's  birth  into  account  as 
you  ponder  over  his  destiny.  Happiness 
or  unhappiness  arises  from  all  that  we  do 
from  the  day  of  our  birth  to  the  day  of 
our  death ;  and  it  is  not  in  death,  but  in- 
deed in  the  days  and  the  years  that  precede 
it,  that  we  can  discover  a  man's  true  happi- 
ness or  sorrow — in  a  word,  his  destiny. 
We  seem  to  imagine  that  the  sage,  whose 

terrible  death  is  written  in  history,  spent 
128 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

all  his  life  in  sad  anticipation  of  the  end 
his  wisdom  prepared ;  whereas  in  reality 
the  thought  of  death  troubles  the  wise  far 
less  than  it  troubles  the  wicked.  Socrates 
had  far  less  cause  than  Macbeth  to  dread 
an  unhappy  end.  And  unhappy  as  his 
death  may  have  been,  it  at  least  had  not 
darkened  his  life ;  he  had  not  spent  all 
his  days  in  dying  preliminary  deaths,  as 
did  the  Thane  of  Cawdor.  But  it  is 
difficult  for  us  not  to  believe  thai:  a 
wound,  that  bleeds  a  few  hours,  must 
crumble  away  into  nothingness  all  the 
peace  of  a  lifetime. 

§51- 

I   do  not   pretend  that  destiny  is' just, 

that   it   rewards    the  good    and   punishes 

the  wicked.     What  soul   that  were  sure 

of  reward  could  ever  claim  to  be  good.f^ 

But  we  are  less  just  than  destiny  even, 
129  I 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

when  it  is  destiny ''that  we  judge.  Our 
eyes  see  only  the  sage's  misfortune,  for 
misfortune  is  known  to  us  all ;  but  we 
see  not  his  happiness,  for  to  understand 
the  happiness  of  the  wise  and  the  just 
whose  destinies  we  endeavour  to  gauge, 
we  must  needs  be  possessed  of  wisdom 
and  justice  that  shall  be  fully  equal  to 
theirs.  When  a  man  of  inferior  soul 
endeavours  to  estimate  a  great  sage's 
happiness,  this  happiness  flows  through 
his  fingers  like  water ;  yet  is  it  heavy  as 
gold,  and  as  brilliant  as  gold,  in  the  hand 
of  a  brother  sage.  For  to  each  is  the 
happiness  given  that  he  can  best  under- 
stand. The  sage's  misfortune  may  often 
resemble  the  one  that  befalls  other  men ; 
but  his  happiness  has  nothing  in  common 
with  that  which  he  who  is  not  wise  terms 
happiness.  In  happiness  there  are  far 
more  regions  unknown  than  there  are  in 

misfortune.  ^  The  voice   of  misfortune  is 
130 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

ever   the   same";    happiness   becomes    the 
more  silent  as  it  penetrates  deeper. 

When  we  put  our  misfortunes  into  one 
scale  of  the  balance,  each  of  us  lays,  in  the 
other,  all  that  he  deems  to  be  happiness. 
The  savage  flings  feathers,  and  powder,  and 
alcohol  into  the  scale ;  civilised  men  some 
gold,  a  few  days  of  delirium  ;  but  the  sage 
will  deposit  therein  countless  things  our  eyes 
cannot  see — all  his  soul,  it  may  be,  and  even 
the  misfortune  that  he  will  have  purified. 

§52. 

There  is  nothing  in  all  the  world  more 

just    than    happiness,    nothing    that    will 

more  faithfully  adopt  the  form    of  our 

soul,  or  so  carefully  fill  the  space  that  our 

wisdom  flings  open.    Yet  is  it  most  silent  of 

all  that  there  is  in  the  world.     The  Angel 

of  Sorrow  can  speak  every  language  — there 

is  not  a  word  but  she  knows ;  but  the  lips 
131 


^ 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

of  the  Angel  of  Happiness  are  sealed,  save 
when  she  tells  of  the  savage's  joys.  It  is 
hundreds  of  centuries  past  that  misfortune 
was  cradled,  but  happiness  seems  even  now 
to  have  scarcely  emerged  from  its  in- 
fancy. There  are  some  men  have  learned 
to  be  happy ;  why  are  there  none  whose 
great  gladness  has  urged  them  to  lift  up 
their  voice  in  the  name  of  the  silent 
Archangel  who  has  flooded  their  soul 
with  light  ?  Are  we  not  almost  teaching 
happiness  if  we  do  only  speak  of  it ; 
invoking  it,  if  we  let  no  day  pass  without 
pronouncing  its  name }  And  is  it  not  the 
first  duty  of  those  who  are  happy  to  tell 
of  their  gladness  to  others  ^  All  men  can 
.  learn  to  be  happy ;  and  the  teaching  of  it 
f.  is  easy.  If  you  live  among  those  who 
daily  call  blessing  on  life,  it  shall  not  be 
long  ere  you  will  call  blessing  on  yours. 
Smiles  are  as  catching  as  tears ;  and  periods 
men  have  termed  happy,  were  periods  when 


32 


Wisdom  and  Destiny* 

there  existed  some  who  knew  of  their 
happiness.  Happiness  rarely  is  absent ; 
it  is  we  that  know  not  of  its  presence. 
The  greatest  felicity  avails  us  nothing 
if  we  know  not  that  we  are  happy ; 
there  is  more  joy  in  the  smallest  delight 
whereof  we  are  conscious,  than  in  the 
approach  of  the  mightiest  happiness  that 
enters  not  into  our  soul.  There  are  only 
too  many  who  think  that  what  they  have 
cannot  be  happiness;  and  therefore  is  it 
the  duty  of  such  as  are  happy,  to  prove 
to  the  others  that  they  only  possess  what 
each  man  possesses  deep  down  in  the 
depths  of  his  heart.  To  be  happy  is 
only  to  have  freed  one's  soul  from  the 
unrest  of  happiness.  It  were  well  if, 
from  time  to  time,  there  should  come 
to  us  one  to  whom  fortune  had  granted 
a  dazzling,  superhuman  felicity,  that  all 
men  regarded  with  envy ;  and  if  he  were 
very  simply  to  say  to  us,  "  All  is  mine  that 
133 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

you  pray  for  each  day :  I  have  riches, 
and  youth,  and  health ;  I  have  glory,  and 
power,  and  love ;  and  if  to-day  I  am 
truly  able  to  call  myself  happy,  it  is  not 
on  account  of  the  gifts  that  fortune  has 
deigned  to  accord  me,  but  because  I  have 
learned  from  these  gifts  to  fix  my  eyes 
'  far  above  happiness.  If  my  marvellous 
travels  and  victories,  my  strength  and  my 
love,  have  brought  me  the  peace  and  the 
gladness  I  sought,  it  is  only  because  they 
have  taught  me  that  it  is  not  in  them 
that  the  veritable  gladness  and  peace  can 
be  found.  It  was  in  myself  they  existed, 
before  all  these  triumphs ;  and  still  in 
myself  are  they  now,  after  all  my  achieve- 
ment ;  and  I  know  full  well  that  had  but 
a  little  more  wisdom  been  mine,  I  might 
have  enjoyed  all  I  now  enjoy  without  the 
aid  of  so  much  good  fortune.  I  know 
that  to-day  I  am  happier  still  than  I  was 

yesterday,  because  I  have  learned  at  last 
134 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

that  I  stand  in  no  need  of  good  fortune 
in  order  to  free  my  soul,  to  bring  peace 
to  my  thoughts,  to  enlighten  my  heart." 


S53. 

Of  this  the  sage  is  fully  aware,  though 
no  superhuman  happiness  may  have  de- 
scended upon  him.  The  upright  man 
knows  it  too,  though  he  be  less  wise  than 
the  sage,  and  his  consciousness  less  fully 
developed ;  for  an  act  of  goodness  or 
justice  brings  with  it  a  kind  of  inarticu- 
late consciousness  that  often  becomes  more 
effective,  more  faithful,  more  loving,  than 
the  consciousness  that  springs  into  being 
from  the  very  deepest  thought.  Acts  of 
this  nature  bring,  above  all,  a  special  know- 
ledge of  happiness.  Strive  as  we  may, 
our  loftiest  thoughts  are  always  uncer- 
tain, unstable  ;  but  the  light  of  a  goodly 

deed  shines   steadily   on,   and  is    lasting. 
135 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

There  are  times  when  deep  thought  is 
no  more  than  merely  fictitious  conscious- 
ness ;  but  an  act  of  charity,  the  heroic 
duty  fulfilled  —  these  are  true  con- 
sciousness ;  in  other  words,  happiness 
in  action.  The  'happiness  of  Marcus 
Aurelius,  who  condones  a  mortal  affront ; 
of  Washington,  giving  up  power  when  he 
feared  that  his  glory  was  leading  his 
people  astray — the  happiness  of  these  will 
differ  by  far  from  that  of  some  mean- 
souled,  venomous  creature  who  might  (if 
such  a  thing  may  be  assumed)  by  mere 
chance  have  discovered  some  extraordinary 
natural  law.  Long  is  the  road  that  leads 
from  the  satisfied  brain  to  the  heart  at 
rest,  and  only  such  joys  will  flourish  there 
as  are  proof  against  winter's  storms. 
Happiness  is  a  plant  that  thrives  far  more 
readily  in  moral  than  in  intellectual  life. 
Consciousness — the  consciousness  of  hap- 
piness, above  all — will  not  choose  the 
136 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

intellect  as  a  hiding-place  for  the  treasure 
it  holds  most  dear.  At  times  it  would 
almost  seem  as  if  all  that  is  loftiest  in 
intellect,  fraught  with  most  comfort,  is 
transformed  into  consciousness  only  when 
passed  through  an  act  of  virtue.  It  suffices 
not  to  discover  new  truths  in  the  world  of 
thought  or  of  fact.  For  ourselves,  a  truth 
only  lives  from  the  moment  it  modifies, 
purifies,  sweetens  something  we  have  in 
our  soul.  To  be  conscious  of  moral 
improvement  is  of  the  essence  of  con- 
sciousness. Some  beings  there  are,  of 
vigorous  intellect,  whose  intellect  never 
is  used  to  discover  a  fault,  or  foster  a 
feeling  of  charity.  And  this  happens 
often  with  women.  In  cases  where  a  man 
and  a  woman  have  equal  intellectual  power, 
the  woman  will  always  devote  far  less 
of  this  power  to  acquiring  moral  self- 
knowledge.  And  truly  the  intellect  that 
aims  not  at  consciousness  is  but  beating 
137 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

its  wings  in  the  void.  Loss  and  cor- 
ruption needs  must  ensue  if  the  force  of 
our  brain  be  not  at  once  gathered  up  in 
the  purest  vase  of  our  heart.  Nor  can 
such  an  intellect  ever  know  happiness; 
nay,  it  seems  to  invite  misfortune.  For 
intellect  may  be  of  the  loftiest,  mightiest, 
and  yet  perhaps  never  draw  near  unto 
joy;  but  in  the  soul  that  is  gentle,  and 
pure,  and  good,  sorrow  cannot  for  ever 
abide.  And  even  though  the  boundary 
line  between  intellect  and  consciousness 
be  not  always  as  clearly  defined  as  here 
we  seem  to  assume,  even  though  a  beauti- 
ful thought  in  itself  may  be  often  a  goodly 
action — yet,  none  the  less  will  a  beautiful 
thought,  that  springs  not  from  noble 
deed,  or  wherefrom  noble  deed  shall  not 
spring,  add  but  little  unto  our  felicity ; 
whereas  a  good  deed,  though  it  father 
no  thought,  will  ever  fall  like  soft  bounti- 
ful rain  on  our  knowledge  of  happiness. 
138 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 


§54. 

**  How  final  must  his  farewell  to  happi- 
ness have  been,"  exclaims  Renan,  speaking 
of  the  renouncement  of  Marcus  Aurelius — 
"  how  final  must  his  farewell  to  happiness 
have  been,  for  him  to  be  capable  of  such 
excess !  None  will  ever  know  how  great 
was  the  suffering  of  that  poor,  stricken 
heart,  or  the  bitterness  the  waxen  brow 
concealed,  calm  always,  and  even  smiling. 
,  It  is  true  that  the  farewell  to  happi- . 
ness  is  the  beginning  of  wisdom,  and 
the  surest  road  to  happiness.  There  is 
nothing  sweeter  than  the  return  of  joy 
that  follows  the  renouncement  of  joy,  as 
there  is  nothing  more  exquisite,  of  keener, 
deeper  delight,  than  the  enchantment  of 
the  disenchanted." 

In  these  terms  does  a  sage  describe  a 
sage's  happiness ;  but  is  it  true  that  the 
139 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

happiness  of  Marcus  Aurelius,  as  of  Renan 
himself,  arose  only  from  the  return  of  joy 
that  followed  the  renouncement  of  joy, 
and  from  the  enchantment  of  the  dis- 
enchanted ?  For  then  were  it  better  that 
wisdom  be  less,  that  we  be  the  less  dis- 
enchanted. But  what  can  the  wisdom 
desire  that  declares  itself  thus  disen- 
chanted ?  Was  it  not  truth  that  it 
sought  ?  and  is  there  a  truth  that  can 
stifle  the  love  of  truth  in  the  depths  of 
a  loyal  heart  ?  The  truth  that  has  taught 
you  that  man  is  wicked  and  nature  un- 
just ;  that  justice  is  futile,  and  love  without 
power,  has  indeed  taught  you  nothing  if 
it  have  not  at  the  same  time  revealed  a 
truth  that  is  greater  still,  one  that  throws 
on  these  disillusions  a  light  more  brilliant, 
more  ample,  than  the  myriad  flickering 
beams  it  has  quenched  all  around  you. 
For  there  lurks  unspeakable  pride,  and 
pride     of     the     poorest     kind,    in    thus 


140 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

declaring  ourselves  satisfied  because  we  can 
find  satisfaction  in  nothing  that  is.  Such 
satisfaction,  in  truth,  is  discontent  only, 
too  sluggish  to  lift  its  head ;  and  they 
only  are  discontented  who  no  longer 
would  understand. 

Does  not  the  man  who  conceives  it  his 
duty  to  forswear  all  happiness  renounce 
something  as  well  that,  as  yet,  has  not 
turned  into  happiness  ^  And  besides, 
what  are  the  joys  to  which  we  bid  this 
somewhat  affected  farewell?  It  must 
surely  be  right  to  discard  all  happiness 
injurious  to  others ;  but  happiness  that 
injures  others  will  not  long  wear  the  sem- 
blance of  happiness  in  the  eyes  of  the 
sage.  And  when  his  wisdom  at  length 
has  revealed  the  profounder  joys,  will  it 
not  be  in  all  unconsciousness  that  he 
renounces  those  of  lesser  worth  ? 

Let  us  never  put  faith  in  the  wisdom 

or  gladness  that  is  based  on  contempt  of 
141 


wisdom  and  Destiny 

a  single  existing  thing ;  for  contempt 
and  renouncement,  its  sickly  offspring, 
offer  asylum  to  none  but  the  weak  and 
the  aged.  We  have  only  the  right  to 
scorn  a  joy  when  such  scorn  is  wholly 
unconscious.  But  so  long  as  we  listen 
to  the  voice  of  contempt  or  renounce- 
ment, so  long  as  we  suffer  these  to  flood 
our  heart  with  bitterness,  so  long  must 
the  joy  we  discard  be  a  joy  that  we  still 
desire. 

We  must  beware  lest  there  enter  our 
soul  certain  parasitic  virtues.  And  re- 
nouncement, often,  is  only  a  parasite. 
Even  if  it  do  not  enfeeble  our  inward 
life,  it  must  inevitably  bring  disquiet. 
Just  as  bees  cease  from  work  at  the 
approach  of  an  intruder  into  their  hive, 
so  will  the  virtues  and  strength  of  the 
soul  into  which  contempt  or  renounce- 
ment has  entered,  forsake  all  their  tasks, 

and  eagerly  flock  round  the  curious  guest 
142 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

that  has  come  in  the  wake  of  pride ;  for 
so  long  as  renouncement  be  conscious,  so 
long  will  the  happiness  found  therein 
have  its  origin  truly  in  pride.  And  he 
who  is  bent  on  renouncement  had  best, 
first  of  all,  forswear  the  delights  of  pride, 
for  these  are  wholly  vain  and  wholly 
deceptive. 

§55- 

Within  reach  of  all,  demanding  neither 
boldness  nor  energy,  is  this  "  enchantment 
of  the  disenchanted !  "  But  what  name 
shall  we  give  to  the  man  who  renounces 
that  which  brought  happiness  to  him, 
and  rather  would  surely  lose  it  to-day 
than  live  in  fear  lest  fortune  haply  de- 
prive him  thereof  on  the  morrow?  Is 
the  mission  of  wisdom  only  to  peer  into 
the  uncertain  future,  with  ear  on  the 
stretch  for  the  footfall  of  sorrow  that 
143 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

never  may  come — but  deaf  to  the  whirr 
of  the  wings  of  the  happiness  that  fills 
all  space  ? 

Let  us  not  look  to  renouncement  for 
happiness  till  we  have  sought  it  elsewhere 
in  vain.  It  is  easy  to  be  wise  if  we  be 
content  to  regard  as  happiness  the  void 
that  is  left  by  the  absence  of  happiness. 
But  it  was  not  for  unhappiness  the  sage 
was  created ;  and  it  is  more  glorious,  as 
well  as  more  human,  to  be  happy  and  still 
to  be  wise.  The  supreme  endeavour  of 
^  wisdom  is  only  to  seek  in  life  for  the  fixed 
point  of  happiness ;  but  to  seek  this  fixed 
point  in  renouncement  and  farewell  to 
joy,  is  only  to  seek  it  in  death.  He  who 
moves  not  a  limb  is  persuaded,  perhaps, 
he  is  wise  ;  but  was  this  the  purpose  where- 
for  mankind  was  created  .^^  Ours  is  the 
choice  —  whether  wisdom  shall  be  the 
honoured  wife  of  our  passions  and  feel- 
ings,   our   thoughts    and    desires,   or    the 


144 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

melancholy  bride  of  death.  Let  the 
tomb  have  its  stagnant  wisdom,  but  let 
there  be  wisdom  also  for  the  hearth  where 
the  fire  still  burns. 

§56. 

It  is  not  by  renouncing  the  joys  that 
are  near  us  that  we  shall  grow  wise ;  but 
as  we  grow  wise  we  unconsciously  abandon 
the  joys  that  now  are  beneath  us.  Even 
so  does  the  child,  as  years  come  to  him, 
give  up  one  by  one  without  thinking  the 
games  that  have  ceased  to  amuse.  And 
just  as  the  child  learns  far  more  from  his 
play  than  from  work  that  is  given  him,  so 
does  wisdom  progress  far  more  quickly  in 
happiness  than  in  misfortune.  It  is  only 
one  side  of  morality  that  unhappiness 
throws  into  light  ;^  and  the  man  whom 
sorrow  has  taught  to  be  wise,  is  like  one 
who  has  loved  and  never  been  loved  in 
145  K 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

return.     There  must  always  be  something 

unknown  to  the  love  whereto   no   other 

love  has  made  answer ;  and  this,  too,  will 

remain  unknown  to  him  whose  wisdom  is 

born  of  sorrow. 

"  Is  happiness  truly  as  happy  as  people 

imagine }  '*  was  asked  of  two  happy  ones 

once  by  a  philosopher  whom  protracted 

injustice  had  saddened.     No  ;  it  is  a  thing 

more  desirable  far,  but  also  much  less  to 

be  envied,  than  people  suppose ;  for  it  is 

in  itself  quite  other  than  they  can  conceive 

who  have  never  been  perfectly  happy.     To 

be  gay  is  not  to  be  happy,  nor  will  he  who 

is  happy  always  be  gay.     It  is  only  the 

little  ephemeral  pleasures  that  forever  are 

smiling ;  and  they  die  away  as  they  smile. 

But  some  loftiness  once  obtained,  lasting 

happiness   becomes    no    less    grave    than 

majestic  sorrow.     Wise  men  have  said  it 

were  best  for  us  not  to  be  happy,  so  that 

happiness  thus  might  be  always  the   one 
146 


I 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

thing  desired.  But  how  shall  the  sage, 
to  whom  happiness  never  has  come,  be 
aware  that  wisdom  is  the  one  thing  alone 
that  happiness  neither  can  sadden  nor 
weary?  Those  thinkers  have  learned  to 
love  wisdom  with  a  far  more  intimate  love 
whose  lives  have  been  happy,  than  those 
whose  lives  have  been  sad.  The  wisdom 
forced  into  growth  by  misfortune  is  dif- 
ferent far  from  the  wisdom  that  ripens 
beneath  happiness.  The  first,  where  it 
seeks  to  console,  must  whisper  of  happi- 
ness ;  the  other  tells  of  itself.  He  who 
is  sad  is  taught  by  his  wisdom  that  hap- 
piness yet  may  be  his ;  he  who  is  happy  is 
taught  by  his  wisdom  that  he  may  become 
wiser  still.  The  discovery  of  happiness 
may  well  be  the  great  aim  of  wisdom ; 
and  we  needs  must  be  happy  ourselves 
before  we  can  know  that  wisdom  itself 
contains  all. 


147 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 


§57. 

There  are  some  who  are  wholly  unable 
to  support  the  burden  of  joy.  There  is  a 
courage  of  happiness  as  well  as  a  courage 
of  sorrow.  It  may  even  be  true  that  per- 
manent happiness  calls  for  more  strength 
in  man  than  permanent  sorrow ;  for  the 
heart  wherein  wisdom  is  not  delights  more 
in  the  expectation  of  that  which  it  has  not 
yet,  than  in  the  full  possession  of  all  it 
has  ever  desired.  He  in  whom  happi- 
ness dwells  is  amazed  at  the  heart  that 
finds  aliment  only  in  fear  or  in  hope, 
and  that  cannot  be  nourished  on  what  it 
possesses,  though  it  possess  all  it  ever 
desired. 

We  often  see  men  who  are  strong  and 

morally    prudent    whom    happiness    yet 

overcomes.     Not  finding  therein  all  they 

sought,  they  do  not  defend  it,  or  cling  to 
148 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

it,  with  the  energy  needful  in  life.  We 
must  have  already  acquired  some  not  in- 
considerable wisdom  to  be  undismayed  at 
perceiving  that  happiness  too  has  its  sor- 
row, and  to  be  not  induced  by  this  sorrow 
to  think  that  ours  cannot  be  the  veritable 
happiness.  The  most  precious  gift  that 
happiness  brings  is  the  knowledge  that 
springs  up  within  us  that  it  is  not  a  thing 
of  mere  ecstasy,  but  a  thing  that  bids  us 
reflect.  It  becomes  far  less  rare,  far  less 
inaccessible,  from  the  moment  we  know 
that  its  greatest  achievement  is  to  give  to 
the  soul  that  is  able  to  prize  it  an  increase 
of  consciousness,  which  the  soul  could  else- 
where never  have  found.  To  know  what 
happiness  means  is  of  far  more  import- 
ance to  the  soul  of  man  than  to  enjoy 
it.  To  be  able  long  to  love  happiness' 
great  wisdom  needs  must  be  ours ;  but  a 
wisdom  still  greater  for  us  to  perceive,  as 

we  lie  in  the  bosom  of  cloudless  joy,  that 
149 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

the  fixed  and  stable  part  of  that  joy  is 
found  in  the  force  which,  deep  down  in 
our  consciousness,  could  render  us  happy 
still  though  misfortune  wrapped  us 
around.  Do  not  believe  you  are  happy 
till  you  have  been  led  by  your  happiness 
up  to  the  heights  whence  itself  disappears 
from  your  gaze,  but  leaving  you  still, 
unimpaired,  the  desire  to  live. 

§58. 

There  are  some  profound  thinkers,  such 

as  Pascal,  Schopenhauer,  Hello,  who  seem 

not  to  have  been  happy,  for  all  that  the 

sense    of  the    infinite,    universal,   eternal, 

was  loftily  throned  in  their  soul.     But  it 

may  well  be  an  error  to  think  that  he 

who  gives  voice  to  the  multitude's  sorrow 

must  himself  always  be  victim  to   great 

personal  despair.     The  horizon  of  sorrow, 

surveyed  from   the  height  of  a  thought 
150 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

that  has  ceased  to  be  selfish,  instinctive, 
or  commonplace,  differs  but  little  from 
the  horizon  of  happiness  when  this  last 
is  regarded  from  the  height  of  a  thought 
of  similar  nature,  but  other  in  origin. 
And  after  all,  it  matters  but  little  whether 
the  clouds  be  golden  or  gloomy  that 
yonder  float  over  the  plain ;  the  traveller 
is  glad  to  have  reached  the  eminence 
whence  his  eye  may  at  last  repose  on 
illimitable  space.  The  sea  is  not  the  less 
marvellous  and  mysterious  to  us  though 
white  sails  be  not  for  ever  flitting  over 
its  surface ;  and  neither  tempest  nor  day 
that  is  radiant  and  calm  is  able  to  bring 
enfeeblement  unto  the  life  of  our  soul. 
Enfe^eblement  comes  through  our  dwell- 
ing, by  night  and  by  day,  in  the  airless 
room  of  our  cold,  self-satisfied,  trivial, 
ungenerous  thoughts,  at  a  time  when  the 
sky  all  around  our  abode  is  reflecting  the 
light  of  the  ocean. 

151 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

But  there  is  a  difference  perhaps  be- 
.tween  the  sage  and  the  thinker.  It  may 
be  that  sorrow  will  steal  over  the  thinker 
as  he  stands  on  the  height  he  has  gained ; 
but  the  sage  by  his  side  only  smiles — and 
this  smile  is  so  loyal,  so  human  and  natural, 
that  the  humblest  creature  of  all  must 
needs  understand,  and  will  gladly  welcome 
it  to  him,  as  it  falls  like  a  flower  to 
the  foot  of  the  mountain.  The  thinker 
throws  open  the  road  "which  leads  from 
the  seen  to  the  unseen ; "  the  sage  throws 
open  the  highway  that  takes  us  from  that 
which  we  love  to-day  to  that  which  we 
yet  shall  love,  and  the  paths  that  ascend 
from  that  which  has  ceased  to  console  to 
that  which,  for  long  time  to  come,  shall 
be  laden  with  deep  consolation.  It  is 
needful,  but  not  all-sufficient,  to  have  re- 
flected deeply  and  boldly  on  man,  and 
nature,    and    God ;    for   the   profoundest 

thought  is  of  little  avail  if  it  contain  no 
152 


Wisdom  and  Destiny  ;;fxiF05^ 

germ  of  comfort.  Indeed,  it  is  only  a 
thought  that  the  thinker,  as  yet,  does  not 
wholly  possess ;  as  the  other  thoughts  are, 
too,  that  remain  outside  our  normal,  every- 
day life.  It  is  easier  far  to  be  sad  and 
dwell  in  affliction  than  at  once  to  do  what 
time  in  the  end  will  always  compel  us  to 
do  :  to  shake  ourselves  free  from  affliction. 
He  who  spends  his  days  gloomily,  in  con-  ^ 
stant  mistrust  of  his  fellows,  will  often 
appear  a  profounder  thinker  than  the  other, 
who  lives  in  the  faith  and  honest  simplicity 
wherein  all  men  should  dwell.  Is  there  a  "* 
man  can  believe  he  has  done  all  it  lay  in 
his  power  to  do  if,  as  he  meditates  thus, 
in  the  name  of  his  brethren,  on  the  sorrows 
of  life,  he  hides  from  them — anxious,  per- 
haps, not  to  weaken  his  grandiose  picture 
of  sorrow — the  reasons  wherefore  he  accepts 
life,  reasons  that  must  be  decisive,  since  he 
himself  continues  to  live.'^  The  thought 
must  be  incomplete  surely  whose  object  is 
153 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

not  to  console.  It  is  easier  for  you  to  tell 
me  the  cause  of  your  sorrow  than,  very 
simply,  to  speak  of  the  deeper,  the  weightier 
reasons  that  induce  your  instinct  to  cling 
to  this  life  whose  distress  you  bemoan. 
Which  of  us  finds  not,  unsought,  many 
thousands  of  reasons  for  sorrow  ^  It  is 
doubtless  of  service  that  the  sage  should 
point  out  those  that  are  loftiest,  for  the 
loftiest  reasons  for  sorrow  must  be  on  the 
eve  of  becoming  reasons  for  gladness  and 
joy.  But  reasons  that  have  not  within 
them  these  germs  of  greatness  and  happi- 
ness— and  in  moral  life  open  spaces  abound 
where  greatness  and  happiness  blend — 
these  are  surely  not  worthy  of  mention. 
'Before  we  can  bring  happiness  to  others, 
we  first  must  be  happy  ourselves  ;  nor  will 
happiness  abide  within  us  unless  we  confer 
it  on  others.  If  there  be  a  smile  upon  our 
lips,  those  around  us  will  soon  smile  too ; 

and  our  happiness  will  become  the  truer 
154 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

and  deeper  as  we  see  that  these  others  are 
happy.  "It  is  not  seemly  that  I,  who, 
willingly,  have  brought  sorrow  to  none, 
should  permit  myself  to  be  sad,"  said 
Marcus  Aurelius,  in  one  of  his  noblest 
passages.  But  are  we  not  saddening  our- 
selves, and  learning  to  sadden  others,  if  we 
refuse  to  accept  all  the  happiness  offered 
to  man  ? 

§59- 

The  humble  thought  that  connects  a^ 
mere  satisfied  glance,  an  ordinary,  everyday 
act  of  simple  kindness,  or  an  insignificant 
moment  of  happiness,  with  something 
eternal,  and  stable,  and  beautiful,  is  of 
far  greater  value,  and  infinitely  nearer 
to  the  mystery  of  life,  than  the  grand 
and  gloomy  meditation  wherein  sor- 
row,  love,  and  despair  blend  with  death 

and  destiny  and  the  apathetic  forces    of 
155 


Wisdom  and  Destiny- 
nature.  Appearances  often  deceive  us. 
Hamlet,  bewailing  his  fate  on  the  brink 
of  the  gulf,  seems  profounder,  imbued 
with  more  passion,  than  Antoninus  Pius, 
whose  tranquil  gaze  rests  on  the  self-same 
forces,  but  who  accepts  them  and  ques- 
tions them  calmly,  instead  of  recoiling 
in  horror  and  calling  down  curses  upon 
them.  Our  slightest  gesture  at  nightfall 
seems  more  momentous  by  far  than  all 
we  have  done  in  the  day;  but  man  was 
created  to  work  in  the  light,  and  not  to 
burrow  in  darkness. 


§60. 

The    smallest    consoling    idea    has    a 

strength  of  its    own  that    is   not   to    be 

found  in  the  most  magnificent  plaint,  the 

most  exquisite  expression  of  sorrow.    The 

vast,  profound  thought  that  brings  with 

it  nothing  but  sadness  is  energy  burning 
156 


Wisdom  and  Destiny- 
its  wings  in  the  darkness  to  throw  light 
on  the  walls  of  its  prison  ;  but  the  timidest 
thought  of  hope,  or  of  cheerful  acceptance 
of  inevitable  law,  in  itself  already  is  action 
in  search  of  a  foothold  wherefrom  to  take 
flight  into  life.  It  cannot  be  harmful  for 
us  to  acknowledge  at  times  that  action 
begins  with  reality  only,  though  our 
thoughts  be  never  so  large  and  disin- 
terested and  admirable  in  themselves. 
For  all  that  goes  to  build  up  what  is  truly 
our  destiny  is  contained  in  those  of  our 
thoughts  which,  hurried  along  by  the  mass 
of  ideas  still  obscure,  indistinct,  incom- 
plete, have  had  strength  sufficient — or  been 
forced,  it  may  be — to  turn  into  facts,  into 
gestures,  into  feelings  and  habits.  We 
do  not  imply  by  this  that  the  other 
thoughts  should  be  neglected.  Those 
that  surround  our  actual  life  may  perhaps 
be   compared  with   an   army  besieging  a 

city.     The  city  once  taken,  the  bulk  of 
157 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

the  troops  would  probably  not  be  per- 
mitted to  pass  through  the  gates.  Admis- 
sion would  be  doubtless  withheld  from  the 
irregular  part  of  the  army — barbarians, 
■  mercenaries,  all  those,  in  a  word,  whose 
natural  tendencies  would  lead  them  to 
drunkenness,  pillage,  or  bloodshed.  And 
it  might  also  very  well  happen  that  fully 
two -thirds  of  the  troops  would  have 
taken  no  part  in  the  final  decisive  battle. 
But  there  often  is  value  in  forces  that 
appear  to  be  useless ;  and  the  city  would 
evidently  not  have  yielded  to  panic  and 
thrown  open  her  gates,  had  the  well-dis- 
ciplined force  at  the  foot  of  the  walls  not 
been  flanked  by  the  hordes  in  the  valley. 
So  is  it  in  moral  life,  too.  Those 
thoughts  are  not  wholly  vain  that  have 
been  unable  to  touch  our  actual  life ; 
they  have  helped  on,  supported,  the 
others ;  yet  is  it  these  others  alone  that 

have    fully   accomplished    their    mission. 
158 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

And  therefore  does  it  behove  us  to  have 
in  our  service,  drawn  up  in  front  of 
the  crowded  ranks  of  our  sad  and  be- 
wildered thoughts,  a  group  of  ideas  more 
human  and  confident,  ready  at  all  times 
to  penetrate  vigorously  into  life. 

§6i. 

Even  when  our  endeavour  to  emerge 
from  reality  is  due  to  the  purest  desire 
for  immaterial  good,  one  gesture  must 
still  be  worth  more  than  a  thousand  in- 
tentions; nor  is  this  that  intentions  are 
valueless,  but  that  the  least  gesture  of 
goodness,  or  courage,  or  justice,  makes 
demands  upon  us  far  greater  than  a 
thousand  lofty  intentions.  Chiromantists 
pretend  that  the  whole  of  our  life  is 
engraved  on  our  palm;  our  life,  accord- 
ing   to    them,    being    a    certain    number 

of    actions    which     imprint     ineffaceable 
159 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

marks    on    our    flesh,    before    or     after 

fulfilment ;    whereas    not  a  trace  will   be 

left   by   either    thoughts    or    intentions. 

If  I  have  for  many  long  days  cherished 

projects  of  murder  or  treachery,  heroism 

or  sacrifice,  my  hand  will  tell  nothing  of 

these ;  but  if  I  have  killed   some    one — 

involuntarily  perhaps,  imagining   he  was 

about  to  attack  me ;  or  if  I  have  rescued 

a  child  from  the  flames  that  enwrapped 

it — my  hand  will  bear,   all   my  life,  the 

infallible    sign    of    love    or   of    murder. 

Chiromancy  may  be  delusion  or  not^it 

matters  but  little ;  here  we  are  concerned 

with  the  great  moral  truth  that  underlies 

this  distinction.     The  place  that  I  fill  in 

the   universe  will    never   be    changed   by 

my  thought;  I  shall  be  as  I  was  to  the 

day  of  my  death;    but  my  actions  will 

almost  invariably  move  me  forwards   or 

backwards     in    the     hierarchy    of    man. 

Thought  is  a  solitary,  wandering,  fugitive 
1 60 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

force,  which  advances  towards  us  to-day 
and  perhaps  on  the  morrow  will  vanish ; 
whereas  every  deed  presupposes  a  per- 
manent army  of  ideas  and  desires  which 
have,  after  lengthy  effort,  secured  foot- 
hold in  reality. 


§62. 

But  wc  find  ourselves  here  far  away 
from  the  noble  Antigone  and  the  eternal 
problem  of  unproductive  virtue.  It  is 
certain  that  destiny — understood  in  the 
ordinary  sense  of  the  word  as  meaning 
the  road  that  leads  only  to  death — is 
wholly  disregardful  of  virtue.  This  is 
the  gulf,  to  which  all  systems  of  morality 
must  come,  as  to  a  central  reservoir,  to  be 
purified  or  troubled  for  ever ;  and  here 
must  each  man  decide  whether  he  will 
justify  fate  or  condemn  it.  Antigone's 
sacrifice  may  well  be  regarded  as  the  type 

i6i  L 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

of  all  such  as  are  made  in  the  cause  of 
duty.  Do  we  not  all  of  us  know  of  heroic 
deeds  whose  reward  has  been  only  mis- 
fortune ?  A  friend  of  my  own,  one  day, 
as  he  lay  on  the  bed  he  was  never  to  leave 
save  for  that  other  one  only  which  is 
eternal,  pointed  out  to  me,  one  after  the 
other,  the  different  stratagems  fate  had 
contrived  to  lure  him  to  the  distant  city, 
where  the  draught  of  poisonous  water 
awaited  him  that  he  was  to  swallow, 
wherefrom  he  must  die.  Strangely  clear 
were  the  countless  webs  that  destiny  had 
spun  round  this  life ;  and  the  most  trivial 
event  seemed  endowed  with  marvellous 
malice  and  forethought.  Yet  had  my 
friend  journeyed  forth  to  that  city  in 
fulfilment  of  one  of  those  duties  that  only 
the  saint,  or  the  hero,  the  sage,  detects  on 
the  horizon  of  conscience.  What  can  we 
say  ?     But  let  us  leave  this  point  for  the 

moment,  to  return  to  it  later.     My  friend, 
162 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

had  he  lived,  would  on  the  morrow  have 
gone  to  another  city,  called  thither  by 
another  duty;  nor  would  he  have  paused 
to  inquire  whether  it  was  indeed  duty  that 
summoned  him.  There  are  beings  who 
do  thus  obey  the  commands  that  their 
heart  whispers  low.  They  fret  not  at 
fortune's  injustice;  they  care  not  though 
virtue  be  thankless ;  theirs  it  is  only  to 
fight  the  injustice  of  men,  which  is  the 
only  injustice  whereof  they,  as  yet,  seem 
aware. 

Ought  we  never  to  hesitate,  then  ?  and 
is  our  duty  most  faithfully  done  when  we 
ourselves  are  wholly  unconscious  that  this 
thing  that  we  do  is  a  duty  ?  Is  it  most 
essential  of  all  that  we  should  attain  a 
height  whence  duty  no  longer  is  looked 
on  as  the  choice  of  our  noblest  feelings, 
but  as  the  silent  necessity  of  all  the  nature 
within  us  ? 


163 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 


§63. 

There  are  some  who  wait  and  question 

themselves,    who    ponder,    consider,    and 

then    at    length    decide.      They    too    are 

right,    for    it   matters  but  little   whether 

the    duty   fulfilled    be    result   of  instinct 

or   intellect.      The    gestures    of    instinct 

will  often  recall  the    delicate,  naive    and 

vague,  unexpected  beauty  that   clings  to 

the  child's  least  movement,  and   touches 

us  deeply ;   but  the  gestures  of  matured 

resolve  have  a  beauty,  too,  of  their  own, 

more  earnest  and  statelier,  stronger.     It  is 

given  to   very  few  hearts  to  be    naively 

perfect,  nor  should  we  go  seek  in  them 

for  the  laws  of  duty.     And  besides,  there 

is   many  a   sober-hued  duty  that  instinct 

will    fail    to    perceive,    that    yet    will    be 

clearly  espied  by  mature  resolution,  bereft 

though  this    be   of   illusion ;    and    man's 
164 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

moral  value  is  doubtless  established  by 
the  number  of  duties  he  sees  and  sets 
forth  to  accomplish. 

It  is  well  that  the  bulk  of  mankind 
should  listen  to  the  instinct  that  prompts 
them  to  sacrifice  self  on  the  altar  of 
duty,  and  that  without  too  close  self- 
questioning  ;  for  long  must  the  ques- 
tioning be  ere  consciousness  will  give 
forth  the  same  answer  as  instinct.  And 
those  who  do  thus  close  their  eyes,  and  in 
all  meekness  follow  their  instinct,  are  in 
truth  following  the  light  that  is  borne  at 
their  head,  though  they  know  it  not,  see 
it  not,  by  the  best  of  their  ancestors.  But 
still  this  is  not  the  ideal ;  and  he  who 
gives  up  the  least  thing  of  all  for  the 
sake  of  his  brother,  well  knowing  what 
it  is  he  gives  up  and  wherefore  he  does 
it,  stands  higher  by  far  in  the  scale  of 
morality  than  the  other,  who  flings  away 

life  without  throwing  one  glance  behind. 
165 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 


§  64- 

In  this  world  there  are  thousands  of 
weak,  noble  creatures  who  fancy  that 
sacrifice  always  must  be  the  last  word  of 
duty ;  thousands  of  beautiful  souls  that 
know  not  what  should  be  done,  and  seek 
only  to  yield  up  their  life,  holding  that 
to  be  virtue  supreme.  They  are  wrong ; 
supreme  virtue  consists  in  the  knowledge 
of  what  should  be  done,  in  the  power  to 
decide  for  ourselves  whereto  we  should 
offer  our  life.  The  duty  each  holds  to 
be  his  is  by  no  means  his  permanent 
duty.  The  paramount  duty  of  all  is  to 
throw  our  conception  of  duty  into  clearest 
possible  light.  The  word  duty  itself  will 
often  contain  far  more  error  and  moral 
indifference  than  virtue.  Clytemnestra  de- 
voted her  life  to  revenge — she  murdered  her 

husband  for  that  he  had  slain  Iphigenia ; 
166 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

Orestes  sacrificed  his  life  in  avenging 
Agamemnon's  death  on  Clytemnestra. 
And  yet  it  has  only  needed  a  sage  to  pass 
by,  saying,  "  pardon  your  enemies,"  for 
all  duties  of  vengeance  to  be  banished  for 
ever  from  the  conscience  of  man.  And 
so  may  it  one  day  suffice  that  another 
sage  shall  pass  by  for  many  a  duty  of 
sacrifice  too  to  be  exiled.  But  in  the 
meanwhile  there  are  certain  ideas  that 
prevail  on  renouncement,  resignation, 
and  sacrifice,  that  are  far  more  destruc- 
tive to  the  most  beautiful  moral  forces 
of  man  than  great  vices,  or  even  than 
crimes. 

§65. 

There  are  some  occasions  in  life,  in- 
evitable and  of  general  bearing,  that 
demand   resignation,    which    is    necessary 

then,    and    good ;    but    there    are    many 
167 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

occasions  when  we  still  are  able  to  fight ; 
and  at  such  times  resignation  is  no  more 
than  veiled  helplessness,  idleness,  ignorance. 
So  is  it  with  sacrifice  too,  which  indeed  is 
most  often  the  withered  arm  resignation 
still  shakes  in  the  void.  There  is  beauty 
in  simple  self-sacrifice  when  its  hour  has 
come  unsought,  when  its  motive  is  happi- 
ness of  others ;  but  it  cannot  be  wise, 
or  of  use  to  mankind,  to  make  sacrifice 
the  aim  of  one's  life,  or  to  regard  its 
achievement  as  the  magnificent  triumph  of 
the  spirit  over  the  body.  (And  here  let 
us  add  that  infinitely  too  great  import- 
ance is  generally  ascribed  to  the  triumph 
of  spirit  over  body,  these  pretended 
triumphs  being  most  often  the  total  de- 
feat of  life.)  Sacrifice  may  be  a  flower 
that  virtue  will  pluck  on  its  road,  but 
it  was  not  to  gather  this  flower  that 
virtue  set  forth  on  its  travels.  It  is  a 
grave  error  to  think  that   the  beauty  of 

1 68 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

soul  is  most  clearly  revealed  by  the  eager 
desire  for  sacrifice;  for  the  soul's  fertile-^ 
beauty  resides  in  its  consciousness,  in  the 
elevation  and  power  of  its  life.  There  are 
some,  it  is  true,  that  awake  from  their 
sleep  at  the  call  of  sacrifice  only ;  but 
these  lack  the  strength  and  the  courage 
to  seek  other  forms  of  moral  existence. 
It  is,  as  a  rule,  far  easier  to  sacrifice 
self — to  give  up,  that  is,  our  moral  exist- 
ence to  the  first  one  who  chooses  to 
take  it  —  than  to  fulfil  our  spiritual 
destiny,  to  accomplish,  right  to  the  end, 
the  task  for  which  we  were  created.  It 
is  easier  far,  as  a  rule,  to  die  morally, 
nay,  even  physically,  for  others,  than  to 
learn  how  best  we  should  live  for  them. 
There  are  too  many  beings  who  thus  lull 
to  sleep  all  initiative,  personal  life,  and 
absorb  themselves  wholly  in  the  idea  that  ^ 
they  are  prepared  and  ready  for  sacrifice.    ^ 

The  consciousness  that  never  succeeds  in 
169 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

travelling  beyond  this  idea,  that  is  satisfied 
ever  to  seek  an  occasion  for  giving  all 
that  which  it  has,  is  a  consciousness  whose 
eyes  are  sealed,  and  that  crouches  be- 
numbed at  the  foot  of  the  mountain. 
There  is  beauty  in  the  giving  of  self,  and 
indeed  it  is  only  by  giving  oneself  that 
we  do,  at  the  end,  begin  to  possess  our- 
selves somewhat ;  but  if  all  that  we  some 
day  shall  give  to  our  brethren  is  the 
desire  to  give  them  ourselves,  then  are 
we  surely  preparing  a  gift  of  most  slender 
value.  Before  giving,  let  us  try  to  ac- 
quire ;  for  this  last  is  a  duty  wherefrom 
we  are  not  relieved  by  the  fact  of  our 
giving.  Let  us  wait  till  the  hour  of 
sacrifice  sounds ;  till  then,  each  man  to 
his  work.  The  hour  will  sound  at  last ; 
but  let  us  not  waste  all  our  time  in 
seeking  it  on  the  dial  of  life. 


170 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 


166. 

There  are  many  ways  of  sacrifice;  and 
I  speak  not  here  of  the  self-sacrifice  of 
the  strong,  who  know,  as  Antigone  knew, 
how  to  yield  themselves  up  when  destiny, 
taking  the  form  of  their  brothers'  mani- 
fest happiness,  calls  upon  them  to  abandon 
their  own  happiness  and  their  life.  1  speak 
of  the  sacrifice  here  that  is  made  by  the 
feeble  ;  that  leans  for  support,  with  childish 
content,  on  the  staff  of  its  own  inanity — 
that  is  as  an  old  blind  nurse,  who  would 
rock  us  in  the  palsied  arms  of  renounce- 
ment and  useless  suffering.  On  this  point 
let  us  note  what  John  Ruskin  says,  one 
of  the  best  thinkers  of  our  time:  "The 
will  of  God  respecting  us  is  that  we  shall 
live  by  each  other's  happiness  and  life; 
not  by  each  other's  misery  or  death.  A 
child  may  have  to  die  for  its  parents ;  but 
the  purpose   of  Heaven   is    that   it  shall 

171 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

rather  live  for  them;  that  not  by  sacri- 
fice, but  by  its  strength,  its  joy,  its  force 
of  being,  it  shall  be  to  them  renewal  of 
strength ;  and  as  the  arrow  in  the  hand 
of  the  giant.  So  it  is  in  all  other  right 
relations.  Men  help  each  other  by  their 
joy,  not  by  their  sorrow.  They  are  not 
intended  to  slay  themselves  for  each  other, 
but  to  strengthen  themselves  for  each 
other.  And  among  the  many  apparently 
beautiful  things  which  turn,  through  mis- 
taken use,  to  utter  evil,  I  am  not  sure 
but  that  the  thoughtlessly  meek  and  self- 
sacrificing  spirit  of  good  men  must  be 
named  as  one  of  the  fatal  lest.  They  have 
so  often  been  taught  that  there  is  a  virtue 
in  mere  suffering,  as  such  .  .  .  that  they 
accept  pain  and  defeat  as  if  these  were  their 
appointed  portion ;  never  understanding 
that  their  defeat  is  not  the  less  to  be 
mourned  because  it  is  more  fatal  to  their 

enemies  than  to  them." 
172 


Wisdom  and   Destiny 


§67. 

You  are  told  you  should  love  your 
neighbour  as  yourself;  but  if  you  love 
yourself  meanly,  childishly,  timidly,  even 
so  shall  you  love  your  neighbour.  Learn 
therefore  to  love  yourself  with  a  love  that 
is  wise  and  healthy,  that  is  large  and  com- 
plete. This  is  less  easy  than  it  would 
seem.  There  is  more  active  charity  in 
the  egoism  of  a  strenuous  clairvoyant  soul 
than  in  all  the  devotion  of  the  soul  that 
is  helpless  and  blind.  Before  you  exists 
for  others  it  behoves  you  to  exist  for 
yourself;  before  giving,  you  first  must 
acquire.  Be  sure  that,  if  deeply  con- 
sidered, more  value  attaches  to  the  particle 
of  consciousness  gained  than  to  the  gift  of 
your  entire  unconsciousness.  Nearly  all 
the  great  things  of  this  world  have  been 

done  by  men  who  concerned  themselves 
173 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

not  at  all  with  ideas  of  self-sacrifice.  Plato's 
thoughts  flew  on— he  paused  not  to  let 
his  tears  fall  with  the  tears  of  the 
mourners  in  Athens ;  Newton  pursued 
his  experiments  calmly,  nor  left  them  to 
search  for  objects  of  pity  or  sorrow ;  and 
Marcus  Aurelius  above  all  (for  here  we 
touch  on  the  most  frequent  and  dangerous 
form  of  self-sacrifice),  Marcus  Aurelius 
essayed  not  to  dim  the  brightness  of  his 
own  soul  that  he  might  confer  happiness 
on  the  inferior  soul  of  Faustina.  And  if 
this  was  right  in  the  lives  of  these  men,  of 
Plato  and  Newton  and  Marcus  Aurelius, 
it  is  equally  right  in  the  life  of  every  soul ; 
for  each  soul  has,  in  its  sphere,  the  same 
obligations  to  self  as  the  soul  of  the 
greatest.  We  should  tell  ourselves,  once 
and  for  all,  that  it  is  the  first  duty  of  the 
soul  to  become  as  happy,  complete,  inde- 
pendent, and  great  as  lies  in  its  power. 
Herein  is  no  egoism,  or  pride.  To 
174 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

become  effectually  generous  and  sincerely 
humble  there  must  be  within  us  a  confi- 
dent, tranquil,  and  clear  comprehension  of 
all  that  we  owe  to  ourselves.  To  this 
end  we  may  sacrifice  even  the  passion  for 
sacrifice ;  for  sacrifice  never  should  be  the 
means  of  ennoblement,  but  only  the  sign 
of  our  being  ennobled. 

§68. 

Let  us  be  ready  to  offer,  when  neces- 
sity beckons,  our  wealth,  and  our  time, 
and  our  life,  to  our  less  fortunate  brethren, 
making  them  thus  an  exceptional  gift  of 
a  few  exceptional  hours ;  but  the  sage  is 
not  bound  to  neglect  his  happiness,  and 
all  that  environs  his  life,  in  sole  prepara- 
tion for  these  few  exceptional  hours  of 
greater  or  lesser  devotion.  The  truest 
morality  tells  us  to  cling,  above  all,  to 
the  duties  that  return  every  day,  to  acts 
175 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

of  inexhaustible  brotherly  kindness.  And, 
thus  considered,  we  find  that  in  the  every- 
day walk  of  life  the  solitary  thing  we  can 
ever  distribute  among  those  who  march 
by  our  side,  be  they  joyful  or  sad,  is  the 
confidence,  strength,  the  freedom  and 
peace,  of  our  soul.  Let  the  humblest  of 
men,  therefore,  never  cease  to  cherish  and 
lift  up  his  soul,  even  as  though  he  were 
fully  convinced  that  this  soul  of  his  should 
one  day  be  called  to  console  or  gladden 
a  God.  When  we  think  of  preparing 
our  soul,  the  preparation  should  never 
be  other  than  befits  a  mission  divine.  In 
this  domain  only,  and  on  this  condition, 
can  man  truly  give  himself,  can  there  be 
pre-eminent  sacrifice.  And  think  you 
that  when  the  hour  sounds  the  gift  of  a 
Socrates  or  Marcus  Aurelius — who  lived 
many  lives,  for  many  a  time  had  they 
compassed   their   whole    life   around — do 

you   think    such    a   gift    is    not   worth   a 
176 


Wisdom  and  Destiny- 
thousand  times  more  than  what  would  be 
given  by  him  who  had  never  stepped  over 
the  threshold  of  consciousness  ?  And  if 
God  there  be,  will  He  value  sacrifice  only, 
by  the  weight  of  the  blood  in  our  body ; 
and  the  blood  of  the  heart — its  virtue, 
its  knowledge  of  self,  its  moral  exist- 
ence— do  you  think  this  will  all  go  for 
nothing  ? 

§69. 

It  is  not  by  self-sacrifice  that  loftiness 
comes  to  the  soul ;  but  as  the  soul  be- 
comes loftier,  sacrifice  fades  out  of  sight, 
as  the  flowers  in  the  valley  disappear 
from  the  vision  of  him  who  toils  up 
the  mountain.  Sacrifice  is  a  beauti- 
ful token  of  unrest ;  but  unrest  should 
not  be  nurtured  within  us  for  sake  of 
itself.  To  the  soul  that  is  slowly  awaken- 
ing all  appears  sacrifice  ;  but  few  things 

177  M 


Wisdom  and  Destijiy 

indeed  are  so  called  by  the  soul  that  at 
last  lives  the  life  whereof  self-denial, 
pity,  devotion,  are  no  longer  indispensable 
roots,  but  only  invisible  flowers.  For  in 
truth  too  many  do  thus  feel  the  need 
of  destroying  —  though  it  be  without 
cause — a  happiness,  love,  or  a  hope  that 
is  theirs,  thereby  to  obtain  clearer  vision  of 
self  in  the  light  of  the  consuming  flame. 
It  is  as  though  they  held  in  their  hand  a 
lamj?  of  whose  use  they  know  nothing ; 
as  though,  when  the  darkness  comes  on, 
and  they  are  eager  for  light,  they  scatter 
its  substance  abroad  on  the  fire  of  the 
stranger. 

Let  us  beware  lest  we  act  as  he  did  in 
the  fable,  who  stood  watch  in  the  light- 
house, and  gave  to  the  poor  in  the  cabins 
about  him  the  oil  of  the  mighty  lanterns 
that  served  to  illumine  the  sea.  Every 
soul  in  its  sphere  has  charge  of  a  light- 
house, for  which  there  is  more  or  less 
178 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

need.  The  humblest  mother  who  allows 
her  whole  life  to  be  crushed,  to  be  sad- 
dened, absorbed,  by  the  less  important  of 
her  motherly  duties,  is  giving  her  oil  to 
the  poor;  and  her  children  will  suffer, 
the  whole  of  their  life,  from  there  not 
having  been,  in  the  soul  of  their  mother, 
the  radiance  it  might  have  acquired.  The 
immaterial  force  that  shines  in  our  heart* 
must  shine,  first  of  all,  for  itself;  for  on 
this  condition  alone  shall  it  shine  for  the 
others  as  well ;  but  see  that  you  give  not 
away  the  oil  of  your  lamp,  though  your 
lamp  be  never  so  small ;  let  your  gift  be 
the  flame,  its  crown. 


S70. 

In  the  soul  that  is  noble  altruism  must, 

without  doubt,  be   always  the   centre   of 

gravity ;  but  the  weak  soul  is  apt  to  lose 

itself  in   others,   whereas  it  is  in   others 
179 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

that  the  strong  soul  discovers  itself.  Here 
we  have  the  essential  distinction.  There 
is  a  thing  that  is  loftier  still  than  to  love 
our  neighbour  as  we  love  ourselves ;  it 
is  to  love  ourselves  in  our  neighbour.  | 
Some  souls  there  are  whom  goodness 
walks  before,  as  there  are  others  that 
goodness  follows.  Let  us  never  forget 
that,  in  communion  of  soul,  the  most 
generous  by  no  means  are  they  who  be- 
lieve they  are  constantly  giving.  A 
strenuous  soul  never  ceases  to  take,  . 
though  it  be  from  the  poorest;  a  weak 
soul  always  is  giving,  even  to  those  that 
have  most ;  but  there  is  a  manner  of 
giving  which  truly  is  only  the  gesture  of 
powerless  greed ;  and  we  should  find,  it 
may  be,  if  reckoning  were  kept  by  a  God, 
that  in  taking  from  others  we  give,  and 
in  giving  we  take  away.  Often  indeed 
will  it  so  come  about  that  the  very  first 

ray  of  enlightenment  will  descend  on  the 
1 80 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

commonplace  soul  the  day  it  has  met 
with  another  which  took  all  that  it  had 
to  give. 

§71. 

Why  not  admit  that  it  is  not  our  para- 
mount duty  to  weep  with  all  those  who 
are  weeping,  to  sujfFer  with  all  who  are 
sad,  to  expose  our  heart  to  the  passer-by 
for  him  to  caress  or  stab  ?  Tears  and 
suffering  and  wounds  are  helpful  to  us 
only  when  they  do  not  discourage  our 
life.  Let  us  never  forget  that  whatever 
our  mission  may  be  in  this  world,  what- 
ever the  aim  of  our  efforts  and  hopes, 
and  the  result  of  our  joys  and  our 
sorrows,  we  are,  above  all,  the  blind 
custodians  of  life.  Absolutely,  wholly 
certain  is  that  one  thing  only ;  it  is  there 
that  we  find  the  only  fixed  point  of  human 
morality.     Life  has  been  given  us — for  a 

reason  we  know  not — but  surely  not  for 
181 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

us  to  enfeeble  it,  or  carelessly  fling  it 
away.  For  it  is  a  particular  form  of  life 
that  we  represent  on  this  planet — the  life 
of  feeling  and  thought ;  whence  it  follows 
perhaps  that  all  that  inclines  to  weaken 
the  ardour  of  feeling  and  thought  is,  in 
its  essence,  immoral.  Our  task  let  it  be 
then  to  foster  this  ardour,  to  enhance  and 
embellish  it;  let  us  constantly  strive  to 
acquire  deeper  faith  in  the  greatness  of 
man,  in  his  strength  and  his  destiny;' 
or,  we  might  equally  say,  in  his  bitter- 
ness, weakness,  and  wretchedness ;  for  to 
be  loftily  wretched  is  no  less  soul-quicken- 
ing than  it  is  to  be  loftily  happy.  After 
all,  it  matters  but  little  whether  it  be 
man  or  the  universe  that  we  admire,  so 
long  as  something  appear  truly  admirable 
to  us,  and  exalt  our  sense  of  the  infinite. 
Every  new  star  that  is  found  in  the 
sky  will  lend  of  its  rays  to  the  passions, 
and  thoughts,  and  the  courage,  of  man. 


182 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

Whatever  of  beauty  we  see  in  all  that 
surrounds  us,  within  us  already  is  beauti- 
ful ;  whatever  we  find  in  ourselves  that 
is  great  and  adorable,  that  do  we  find  ^ 
too  in  others.  If  my  soul,  on  awaking 
this  morning,  was  cheered,  as  it  dwelt  on 
its  love,  by  a  thought  that  drew  near  to  a 
God — a  God,  we  have  said,  who  is  doubt- 
less no  more  than  the  loveliest  desire  of 
our  soul — then  shall  I  behold  this  same 
thought  astir  in  the  beggar  who  passes 
my  window  the  moment  thereafter ;  and 
I  shall  love  him  the  more  for  that  I  v' 
understand  him  the  better.  And  let  us 
not  think  that  love  of  this  kind  can  be 
useless  ;  for  indeed,  if  one  day  we  shall 
know  the  thing  that  has  to  be  done,  it 
will  only  be  thanks  to  the  few  who  love 
in  this  fashion,  with  an  ever-deepening 
love.  From  the  conscious  and  infinite 
love  must  the   true   morality  spring,  nor 

can    there    be    greater    charity    than    the 
183 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

effort  to  ennoble  our  fellows.  But  I 
cannot  ennoble  you  if  I  have  not  become 
noble  myself;  I  have  no  admiration  to 
give  you  if  there  be  naught  in  myself  I 
admire.  If  the  deed  I  have  done  be 
heroic,  its  truest  reward  will  be  my  con- 
viction that  of  an  equal  deed  you  are 
capable  too ;  this  conviction  ever  will  tend 
to  become  more  spontaneous  within  me, 
and  more  unconquerable.  Every  thought 
that  quickens  my  heart  brings  quickening, 
too,  to  the  love  and  respect  that  I  have 
for  mankind.  As  I  rise  aloft,  you  rise 
with  me.  But  if,  the  better  to  love 
you,  I  deem  it  my  duty  to  tear  off  the 
wings  from  my  love,  your  love  being 
wingless  as  yet ;  then  shall  I  have  added 
in  vain  to  the  plaints  and  the  tears  in  the 
valley,  but  brought  my  own  love  thereby 
not  one  whit  nearer  the  mountain.  Our 
love    should    always    be    lodged    on    the 

highest    peak    we    can    attain.      Let    our 
184 


Wisdom  and 

love  not  spring  from  pity  when  it  can 
be  born  of  love ;  let  us  not  forgive  for 
charity's  sake  when  justice  offers  forgive- 
ness ;  nor  let  us  try  to  console  there  where 
we  can  respect.  Let  our  one  never-ceasing 
care  be  to  better  the  love  that  we  offer 
our  fellov/s.  One  cup  of  this  love  that 
is  drawn  from  the  spring  on  the  mountain 
is  worth  a  hundred  taken  from  the  stag- 
nant well  of  ordinary  charity.  And  if 
there  be  one  whom  you  no  longer  can 
love  because  of  the  pity  you  feel,  or  the 
tears  that  he  sheds;  and  if  he  ignore  to 
the  end  that  you  love  him  because  you 
ennobled  him  at  the  same  time  you  en- 
nobled yourself,  it  matters  but  little  after 
all ;  for  you  have  done  what  you  held 
to  be  best,  and  the  best  is  not  always 
most  useful.  Should  we  not  invariably 
act  in  this  life  as  though  the  God  whom 
our  heart  desires  with   its   highest  desire 

were  watching  our  every  action  ? 
i8s 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 


S72. 

In  a  terrible  catastrophe  that  took  place 
but  a  short  time  ago,*  destiny  afforded 
yet  another,  and  perhaps  the  most  startling 
instance  of  what  it  pleases  men  to  term 
,  her  injustice,  her  blindness,  or  her  irre- 
sponsibility. She  seemed  to  have  singled 
out  for  especial  chastisement  the  solitary 
external  virtue  that  reason  has  left  us — 
our  love  for  our  fellow-man.  There  must 
have  been  some  moderately  righteous  men 
amongst  the  victims,  and  it  seems  almost 
certain  that  there  was  at  least  one  whose 
virtue  was  wholly  disinterested  and  sincere. 
It  is  the  presence  of  this  one  truly  good 
man  that  warrants  our  asking,  in  all  its 
simplicity,  the  terrible  question  that  rises 
to  our  lips.  Had  he  not  been  there  we 
might  have  tried  to  believe  that  this  act 

*  The  fire  at  the  Bazar  de  la  Charite  in  Paris. 
i86 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

of  seemingly  monstrous   injustice  was  in 

reality  composed  of  particles  of  sovereign 

justice.      We    might    have   whispered    to 

ourselves  that  what  they  termed  charity, 

out  yonder,  was  perhaps  only  the  arrogant 

flower  of  permanent  injustice. 

We    seem    unwilling    to    recognise   the 

blindness  of  the  external  forces,  such  as  air, 

fire,  water,  the  laws  of  gravity  and  others, 

with  which  we  must  deal  and  do  battle. 

The  need  is  heavy  upon  us  to  find  excuses 

for  fate ;  and  even  when  blaming  her,  we 

seem  to  be  endeavouring  still  to  explain  the 

causes  of  her  past  and  her  future  action, 

conscious  the  while  of  a  feeling  of  pained 

surprise,  as  though  a  man  we  valued  highly 

had  done  some  dreadful  deed.     We  love 

to  idealise  destiny,  and  are  wont  to  credit 

her  with  a  sense  of  justice  loftier  far  than 

our  own ;  and  however  great  the  injustice 

whereof  she    may  have  been  guilty,  our 

confidence  will  soon  flow  back  to  her,  the 
187 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

first  feeling  of  dismay  over ;  for  in  our 
heart  we  plead  that  she  must  have  reasons 
we  cannot  fathom,  that  there  must  be  kws 
we  cannot  divine.  The  gloom  of  the 
world  would  crush  us  were  we  to  dissociate 
morality  from  fate.  To  doubt  the  exist- 
ence of  this  high,  protecting  justice  and 
virtue,  would  seem  to  us  to  be  denying 
the  existence  of  all  justice  and  of  all  virtue. 
We  are  no  longer  able  to  accept  the 
narrow  morality  of  positive  religion,  which 
entices  with  reward  and  threatens  with 
punishment ;  and  yet  we  are  apt  to  forget 
that,  were  fate  possessed  of  the  most 
rudimentary  sense  of  justice,  our  concep- 
tion of  a  lofty,  disinterested  morality 
would  fade  into  thin  air.  What  merit 
in  being  just  ourselves  if  we  be  not  con- 
vinced of  the  absolute  injustice  of  fate  ? 
We  no  longer  believe  in  the  ideals  once 
held  by  saints,  and  we  are  confident  that 
a  wise  God  will  hold  of  as  little  account 

i88 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

the  duty  done  through  hope  of  recom- 
pense, as  the  evil  done  for  sake  of  gain ; 
and  this  even  though  the  recompense 
hoped  for  be  nothing  but  the  self-ensuing 
peace  of  mind.  We  say  that  God,  who 
must  be  at  least  as  high  as  the  highest 
thoughts  He  has  implanted  in  the  best  of 
men,  will  withhold  His  smile  from  those 
who  have  desired  but  to  please  Him ;  and 
that  they  only  who  have  done  good  for 
the  sake  of  good  and  as  though  He  existed 
not,  they  only  who  have  loved  virtue 
more  than  they  loved  God  Himself,  shall 
be  allowed  to  stand  by  His  side.  And 
yet,  and  for  all  this,  no  sooner  does  the 
event  confront  us,  than  we  discover  that 
we  still  are  guided  by  the  ''  moral  maxims" 
of  our  childhood.  Of  more  avail  would 
be  a  "  List  of  chastised  virtues."  The 
soul  that  is  quick  with  life  would  find  its 
profit  therein ;  the  cause  of  virtue  would 

gain  in  vigour   and   in   majesty.     Let   us 
189 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

not  forget  that  it  is  from  the  very  non- 
morality  of  destiny  that  a  nobler  morality 
must  spring  into  life ;  for  here,  as  every- 
where, man  is  never  so  strong  with  his 
own  native  strength  as  when  he  realises 
that  he  stands  entirely  alone.  As  we 
consider  the  crowning  injustice  of  fate,  it 
is  the  negation  of  high  moral  law  that 
disturbs  us ;  but  from  this  negation  there 
at  once  arises  a  moral  law  that  is  higher 
still.  He  who  no  longer  believes  in 
reward  or  punishment  must  do  good  for 
the  sake  of  good.  Even  though  a  moral 
law  seem  on  the  eve  of  disappearing,  we 
need  have  no  cause  for  disquiet ;  its  place 
will  be  speedily  filled  by  a  law  that  is 
greater  still.  To  attribute  morality  to 
fate  is  but  to  lessen  the  purity  of  our 
ideal ;  to  admit  the  injustice  of  fate  is  to 
throw  open  before  us  the  ever-widening 
fields  of  a  still  loftier  morality.     Let  us 

not  think  virtue  will  crumble,  though  God 
190 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

Himself  seem  unjust.  Where  shall  the 
virtue  of  man  find  more  everlasting  founda- 
tion than  in  the  seeming  injustice  of  God  ? 

§73- 

Let  us  not  cavil,  therefore,  at  nature's 
indifference  to  the  sage.  It  is  only  because 
we  are  not  yet  wise  enough  that  this  in- 
difference seems  strange  ;  for  the  first  duty 
of  wisdom  is  to  throw  into  light  the 
humbleness  of  the  place  in  the  universe 
that  is  filled  by  man. 

Within  his  sphere  he  seems  of  import- 
ance, as  the  bee  in  its  cell  of  honey ;  but 
it  were  idle  to  suppose  that  a  single 
flower  the  more  will  blossom  in  the  fields 
because  the  queen  bee  has  proved  herself 
a  heroine  in  the  hive.  We  need  not  fear 
that  we  depreciate  ourselves'when  we  extol 
the  universe.     Whether  it  be  ourselves  or 

the  entire  world  that  we  consider  great, 
191 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

still   will   there   quicken  within   our  soul 

the  sense  of  the  infinite,  which  is  of  the 

life-blood  of  virtue.     What  is  an  act  of 

virtue  that  we  should  expect  such  mighty 

reward  ?    It  is  within  ourselves  that  reward 

must  be  found,  for  the  law  of  gravitation 

will   not  swerve.     They  only  who  know 

not  what  goodness  is  are  ever  clamouring 

for  the  wage  of  goodness.     Above  all,  let 

us  never  forget  that  an  act  of  goodness  is 

of  itself  always  an  act  of  happiness.     It  is 

the  flower  of  a  long  inner  life  of  joy  and 

contentment ;    it   tells   of  peaceful   hours 

and  days  on  the  sunniest  heights  of  our 

soul.     No  reward  coming  after  the  event 

can  compare  with  the  sweet  reward  that 

went    with    it.      The    upright    man   who 

perished  in   the  catastrophe   I   mentioned 

was  there  because  his  soul  had  found  a 

peace    and   strength    in    virtue    that    not 

happiness,    love,    or    glory    could    have 

given  him.     Were  the   flames  to  retreat 
192 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

before  such  men,  were  the  waters  to  open 
and  death  to  hesitate,  what  were  righteous- 
ness or  heroism  then  ?  Would  not  the 
true  happiness  of  virtue  be  destroyed  ? 
virtue  that  is  happy  because  it  is  noble 
and  pure,  that  is  noble  and  pure  because 
it  desires  no  reward?  There  may  be 
human  joy  in  doing  good  with  definite 
purpose,  but  they  who  do  good  expecting*'" 
nothing  in  return  know  a  joy  that  is 
divine.  Where  we  do  evil  our  reasons 
mostly  are  known  to  us,  but  our  good 
deed  becomes  the  purer  for  our  ignorance 
of  its  motive.  Would  we  know  how  to 
value  the  righteous  man,  we  have  but  to 
question  him  as  to  the  motives  of  his 
righteousness.  He  will  probably  be  the 
most  truly  righteous  who  is  least  ready  with 
his  answer.  Some  may  suppose  that  as  in- 
tellect widens  many  a  motive  for  heroism 
will  be  lost  to  the  soul ;  but  it  should  be 

borne  in    mind    that   the  wider   intellect 
193  N 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

brings  with  it  an  ideal  of  heroism  loftier 
and  more  disinterested  still.  And  this 
much  at  least  is  certain :  he  who  thinks 
that  virtue  stands  in  need  of  the  approval 
of  destiny  or  of  worlds,  has  not  yet  within 
him  the  veritable  sense  of  virtue.  Truly 
to  act  well  we  must  do  good  because  of 
our  craving  for  good,  a  more  intimate 
knowledge  of  goodness  being  all  we  ex- 
pect in  return.  **With  no  witness  save  his 
heart  alone,"  said  St.  Just.  In  the  eyes 
of  a  God  there  must  surely  be  marked 
distinction  between  the  soul  of  the  man 
who  believes  that  the  rays  of  a  virtuous 
deed  shall  shine  through  furthest  space, 
and  the  soul  of  the  other  who  knows  they 
illumine  his  heart  alone.  There  may  be 
greater  momentary  strength  in  the  over- 
ambitious  truth,  but  the  strength  that  is 
brought  by  the  humble  human  truth  is  far 
more  earnest  and  patient.     Is  it  wiser  to  be 

as  the  soldier  who  imagines  that  each  blow 
194 


Wisdom  and  Destiny- 
he  strikes  brings  victory  nearer,  or  as  the 
other  who  knows  his  little  account  in  the 
combat  but  still  fights  sturdily  on  ?  The 
upright  man  would  scorn  to  deceive  his 
neighbour,  but  is  ever  unduly  inclined  to 
regard  some  measure  of  self-deception  as 
inseparable  from  his  ideal. 

If  there  were  profit  in  virtue,  then  would 
the  noblest  of  men  be  compelled  to  seek 
happiness  elsewhere ;  and  God  would 
destroy  their  main  object  in  life  were  He 
to  reward  them  often.  Nothing  is  in- 
dispensable, perhaps,  or  even  necessary; 
and  it  may  be  that  if  the  joy  of  doing 
good  for  sake  of  good  were  taken  from 
the  soul,  it  would  find  other,  purer  joys ; 
but  in  the  meantime,  it  is  the  most  beau- 
tiful joy  we  know,  therefore  let  us  respect 
it.  Let  us  not  resent  the  misfortunes 
that  sometimes  befall  virtue,  lest  we  at 
the  same  time  disturb  the  limpid  essence 

of  its  happiness.     The  soul  that  has  this 
195 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

happiness  dreams  no  more  of  reward,  than 
others  expect  punishment  because  of  their 
wickedness.  They  only  are  ever  clamour- 
ing for  justice  who  know  it  not  in  their 
lives. 

§74. 

There  is  wisdom  in  the  Hindu  saying : 
"  Work  as  they  work,  who  are  ambitious. 
Respect  life,  as  they  respect  it  who  desire 
it.  Be  happy,  as  they  are  happy  who 
live  for  happiness  alone." 

And  this  is  indeed  the  central  point  of 
human  wisdom — to  act  as  though  each 
deed  must  bear  wondrous,  everlasting 
fruit,  and  yet  to  realise  the  insignificance 
of  a  just  action  before  the  universe ;  to 
grasp  the  disproportion  of  things,  and  yet 
to  march  onwards  as  though  the  propor- 
tions were  established  by  man  ;    to  keep 

our  eyes  fixed  on  the  great  sphere,  and 
196 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

ourselves  to  move  in  the  little  sphere  with 
as  much  confidence  and  earnestness,  with 
as  much  assurance  and  satisfaction,  as 
though  the  great  sphere  were  contained 
within  it. 

Is  there  need  of  illusion  to  keep  alive 
our  desire  for  good  ?  then  must  this 
desire  stand  confessed  as  foreign  to  the 
nature  of  man.  It  is  a  mistake  to  imagine 
that  the  heart  will  long  cherish  within  it 
the  ideas  that  reason  has  banished ;  but 
within  the  heart  there  is  much  that  reason 
may  take  to  itself.  And  at  last  the  heart 
becomes  the  refuge  to  which  reason  is 
apt  to  fly,  ever  more  and  more  simply, 
each  time  that  the  night  steals  upon  it ; 
for  it  is  to  the  heart  as  a  young,  clair- 
voyant girl,  who  still  at  times  needs 
advice  from  her  blind,  but  smiling,  mother. 
There  comes  a  moment  in  life  when  moral 
beauty  seems  more  urgent,  more  penetrat- 
ing, than  intellectual  beauty ;  when  all 
197 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

that  the  mind  has  treasured  must  be 
bathed  in  the  greatness  of  soul,  lest  it 
perish  in  the  sandy  desert,  forlorn  as  a 
river  that  seeks  in  vain  for  the  sea. 

§75- 

But  let  us  exaggerate  nothing  when 
dealing  with  wisdom,  though  it  be  wisdom 
itself.  The  external  forces,  we  know,  will 
not  yield  to  the  righteous  man ;  but  still 
he  is  absolute  lord  of  most  of  the  inner 
powers;  and  these  are  for  ever  spinning 
the  web  of  nearly  all  our  happiness  and 
sorrow.  We  have  said  elsewhere  that  the 
sage,  as  he  passes  by,  intervenes  in  count- 
less dramas.  Indeed  his  mere  presence 
suffices  to  arrest  most  of  the  calamities 
that  arise  from  error  or  evil.  They  can- 
not approach  him,  or  even  those  who  are 
near   him.       A    chance    meeting    with    a 

creature  endowed  with  simple  and  loving 
198 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

wisdom  has  stayed  the  hands  of  men  who 
else  had  committed  countless  acts  of  folly 
or  wickedness ;  for  in  life  most  characters 
are  subordinate,  and  it  is  chance  alone  that 
determines  whether  the  track  which  they 
are  to  follow  shall  be  that  of  suffering 
or  peace.  The  atmosphere  around  Jean- 
Jacques  Rousseau  was  heavy  with  lamen- 
tation and  treachery,  delirium,  deceit,  and 
cunning ;  whereas  Jean  Paul  moved  in 
the  midst  of  loyalty  and  nobility,  the 
centre  of  peace  and  love.  We  subdue 
that  in  others  which  we  have  learned  to 
subdue  in  ourselves.  Around  the  upright 
man  there  is  drawn  a  wide  circle  of  peace, 
within  which  the  arrows  of  evil  soon 
cease  to  fall ;  nor  have  his  fellows  the 
power  to  inflict  moral  suffering  upon  him. 
For  indeed  if  our  tears  can  flow  because 
of  our  enemies'  malice,  it  is  only  because 
we  ourselves  would  fain  make  our  enemies 

weep.     If  the  shafts  of  envy  can  wound 
199 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

and  draw  blood,  it  is  only  because  we 
ourselves  have  shafts  that  we  wish  to 
throw;  if  treachery  can  wring  a  groan 
from  us,  we  must  be  disloyal  ourselves. 
Only  those  weapons  can  wound  the  soul 
that  it  has  not  yet  sacrificed  on  the  altar 
of  Love. 

§76. 

The  dramas  of  virtue  are  played  on  a 
stage  whose  mysteries  not  even  the  wisest 
can  fathom.  It  is  only  as  the  last  word 
is  spoken  that  the  curtain  is  raised  for 
an  instant ;  we  know  nothing  of  all  that 
preceded,  of  the  brightness  or  gloom 
that  enwrapped  it.  But  of  one  thing 
at  least  the  just  man  may  be  certain ;  it 
will  be  in  an  act  of  charity,  or  justice, 
that  his  destiny  will  meet  him  face  to 
face.  The  blow  must  inevitably  find  him 
prepared,    in   a   state    of    grace,    as    the 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

Christian  calls  it ;  in  other  words,  in  a 
state  of  inner  happiness.  And  that  in 
itself  bars  the  door  on  evil  destiny  within 
us,  and  closes  most  of  the  gates  by  which 
external  misfortune  can  enter.  As  our 
conception  of  duty  and  happiness  gains 
in  dignity,  so  does  the  sway  of  moral 
suffering  become  the  more  restricted  and 
purer.  And  is  not  moral  suffering  the 
most  tyrannical  weapon  in  the  armoury  of 
destiny  ?  Our  happiness  mainly  depends 
on  the  freedom  that  reigns  within  us ; 
a  freedom  that  widens  with  every  good 
deed,  and  contracts  beneath  acts  of  evil. 
Not  metaphorically,  but  literally,  does 
Marcus  Aurelius  free  himself  each  time 
he  discovers  a  new  truth  in  indulgence, 
each  time  that  he  pardons,  each  time  he 
reflects.  Still  less  of  a  metaphor  is  it 
to  declare  that  Macbeth  enchains  himself 
anew  with  every  fresh  crime.  And  if  this 
be  true  of  the  great  crimes  of  kings  and 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

the  virtues  of  heroes,  it  is  no  less  true 
of  the  humblest  faults  and  most  hidden 
virtues  of  ordinary  life.  Many  a  youthful 
Marcus  Aurelius  is  still  about  us ;  many 
a  Macbeth,  who  never  stirs  from  his 
room.  However  imperfect  our  concep- 
tion of  virtue,  still  let  us  cling  to  it; 
for  a  moment's  forgetfulness  exposes  us 
to  all  the  malignant  forces  from  without. 
The  simplest  lie  to  myself,  buried  though 
it  may  be  in  the  silence  of  my  soul,  may 
yet  be  as  dangerous  to  my  inner  liberty 
as  an  act  of  treachery  on  the  market- 
place. And  from  the  moment  that  my 
inner  liberty  is  threatened,  destiny  prowls 
around  my  external  liberty  as  stealthily  as 
a  beast  of  prey  that  has  long  been  tracking 
its  victim. 

§77- 

Can    we    conceive    a    situation    in    life 

wherein   a    man   who    is   truly   wise  and 
202 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

noble  can  be  made  to  suffer  as  profoundly 
as  the  man  who  follows  evil  ?  In  this 
world  it  is  far  more  certain  that  vice 
will  be  punished,  than  that  virtue  will 
meet  with  reward ;  yet  we  must  bear  in 
mind  that  it  is  the  habit  of  crime  to 
shriek  aloud  beneath  its  punishment, 
whereas  virtue  rewards  itself  in  the  silence 
that  is  the  walled  garden  of  its  happiness. 
Evil  drags  horrid  catastrophe  behind  it ; 
but  an  act  of  virtue  is  only  a  silent  offer- 
ing to  the  profoundest  laws  of  life  ;  and 
therefore,  doubtless,  does  the  balance  of 
mighty  justice  seem  more  ready  to  incline 
beneath  deeds  of  darkness  than  beneath 
those  of  light.  But  if  we  can  scarcely 
believe  that  *'  happiness  in  crime  "  be 
possible,  have  we  more  warrant  for  faith 
in  the  "  unhappiness  of  virtue  "  .?  We 
know  that  the  executioner  can  stretch 
Spinoza    on   the    rack,    and  that  terrible 

disease  will  spare  Antoninus  Pius  no  more 
203 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

than  Goneril  or  Regan ;  but  pain  such 
as  this  belongs  to  the  animal,  not  the 
human,  side  of  man.  Wisdom  has  indeed 
sent  science,  the  youngest  of  her  sisters, 
into  the  realm  of  destiny,  with  the  mission 
to  bring  the  zone  of  physical  suffering 
within  ever-narrowing  limits  ;  but  there  are 
inaccessible  regions  within  that  realm, 
where  disaster  ever  will  rule.  Some 
stricken  ones  there  will  always  be,  victims 
to  irreducible  injustice ;  and  yet  will  the 
true  wisdom,  in  the  midst  of  its  sorrow, 
only  be  fortified  thereby,  only  gain  in 
self-reliance  and  humanity  all  that  it 
may  lose  in  more  mystic  qualities.  We 
become  truly  just  only  when  it  is  finally 
borne  home  to  us  that  we  must  search 
within  ourselves  for  our  model  of  justice. 
Again,  it  is  the  injustice  of  destiny  that 
restores  man  to  his  place  in  the  universe. 
It  is  not  well  that  he  should  for  ever  be 
casting  anxious  glances  about  him,  like  the 


204 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

child  that  has  strayed  from  its  mother's 

side.      Nor    need  we   believe   that   these 

disillusions  must  necessarily  give  rise  to 

moral  discouragement ;  for  the  truth  that 

seems    discouraging  does   in    reality  only 

transform    the    courage    of  those   strong 

enough  to  accept  it ;  and,  in  any  event,  a 

truth  that  disheartens,  because  it  is  true, 

is  still  of  far  more  value  than  the  most 

stimulating  of  falsehoods.     But  indeed  no 

truth  can  discourage,  whereas  much  that 

passes  as  courage  oniy  bears  the  semblance 

thereof.      The  thing  that    enfeebles    the 

weak   will    but    help    to    strengthen   the 

strong.     "  Do  you  remember   the    day," 

wrote  a  woman  to  her  lover,  "when  we 

sat  together  by  the  window  that  looked 

on   to  the   sea,    and    watched    the   meek 

procession    of  white-sailed  ships    as   they 

followed  each   other  into  harbour?  .  .  . 

Ah  !    how  that  day  comes  back  to  me  ! 

.  .  .  Do  you  remember  that  one  ship  had 
205 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

a  sail  that  was  nearly  black,  and  that  she 
was  the  last  to  come  in  ?  And  do  you 
remember,  too,  that  the  hour  of  separation 
was  upon  us,  and  that  the  arrival  of  the 
last  boat  of  all  was  to  be  our  signal  for 
departure  ?  We  might  perhaps  have  found 
cause  for  sadness  in  the  gloomy  sail  that 
fluttered  at  her  mast ;  but  we  who  loved 
each  other  had  'accepted*  life,  and  we 
only  smiled  as  we  once  more  recognised 
the  kinship  of  our  thoughts."  Yes,  it  is 
thus  we  should  act ;  and  though  we  cannot 
always  smile  as  the  black  sail  heaves  in 
sight,  yet  is  it  possible  for  us  to  find  in  our 
life  something  that  shall  absorb  us  to  the 
exclusion  of  sadness,  as  her  love  absorbed 
the  woman  whose  words  I  have  quoted. 
Complaints  of  injustice  grow  less  frequent 
as  the  brain  and  the  heart  expand.  It  is 
well  to  remind  ourselves  that  in  this  world, 
whose  fruit  we  are,  all  that  concerns  us 
must  necessarily  be  more  conformable  with 


206 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

our  existence  than  the  most  beneficent  law 
of  our  imagination.  The  time  has  arrived 
perhaps  when  man  must  learn  to  place  the 
centre  of  his  joys  and  pride  elsewhere  than 
within  himself.  As  this  idea  takes  firmer 
root  within  us,  so  do  we  become  more 
conscious  of  our  helplessness  beneath  its 
overwhelming  force ;  yet  is  it  at  the  same 
time  borne  home  to  us  that  of  this  force 
we  ourselves  form  part ;  and  even  as  we 
writhe  beneath  it,  we  are  compelled  to 
admire,  as  the  youthful  Telemachus  ad- 
mired the  power  of  his  father's  arm.  Our 
own  instinctive  actions  awaken  within  us 
an  eager  curiosity,  an  affectionate,  pleased 
surprise :  why  should  we  not  train  our- 
selves thus  to  regard  the  instinctive  actions 
of  nature  ?  We  love  to  throw  the  dim 
light  of  our  reason  on  to  our  unconscious- 
ness :  why  not  let  it  play  on  what  we  term 
the  unconsciousness  of  the  universe  ?    We 

are  no  less  deeply  concerned  with  the  one 
207 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

than  the  other.  '*  After  he  has  become 
acquainted  with  the  power  that  is  in  him," 
said  a  philosopher,  "  one  of  the  highest 
privileges  of  man  is  to  realise  his  individual 
powerlessness.  Out  of  the  very  dispropor- 
tion between  the  infinite  which  kills  us  and 
this  nothing  that  we  are,  there  arises  within 
us  a  sensation  that  is  not  without  grandeur ; 
we  feel  that  we  would  rather  be  crushed 
by  a  mountain  than  done  to  death  by  a 
pebble,  as  in  war  we  would  rather  succumb 
beneath  the  charge  of  thousands  than  fall 
victim  to  a  single  arm.  And  as  our  intel- 
lect lays  bare  to  us  the  immensity  of  our 
helplessness,  so  does  it  rob  defeat  of  its 
sting."  Who  knows  ?  We  are  already 
conscious  of  moments  when  the  something 
that  has  conquered  us  seems  nearer  to 
ourselves  than  the  part  of  us  that  has 
yielded.  Of  all  our  characteristics,  self- 
esteem  is  the  one  that  most  readily  changes 

its  home,  for  we  are  instinctively  aware 

208 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

that  it  has  never  truly  formed  part  of  us. 
The  self-esteem  of  the  courtier  who  waits 
on  the  mighty  king  soon  finds  more 
splendid  lodging  in  the  king's  boundless 
power;  and  the  disgrace  that  may  befall 
him  will  wound  his  pride  the  less  for  that 
it  has  descended  from  the  height  of  a 
throne.  Were  nature  to  become  less  in- 
different, it  would  no  longer  appear  so 
vast.  Our  unfettered  sense  of  the  infinite 
cannot  afford  to  dispense  with  one  particle 
of  the  infinite,  with  one  particle  of  its 
indifference ;  and  there  will  ever  remain 
something  within  our  soul  that  would 
rather  weep  at  times  in  a  world  that  knows 
no  limit,  than  enjoy  perpetual  happiness 
in  a  world  that  is  hemmed  in. 

If  destiny  were  invariably  just  in  her 
dealings  with  the  wise,  then  doubtless 
would  the  existence  of  such  a  law  furnish 
sufficient  proof  of  its  excellence;  but  as 

it  is  wholly  indifferent,  it  is  better  so,  and 
209  o 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

perhaps  even  greater ;  for  what  the  actions 
of  the  soul  may  lose  in  importance  thereby 
does  *but  go  to  swell  the  dignity  of  the 
universe.  And  loss  of  grandeur  to  the 
sage  there  is  none ;  for  he  is  as  profoundly 
sensitive  to  the  greatness  of  nature  as  |;p 
the  greatness  that  lurks  within  man.  '  Why 
harass  our  soul  with  endeavour  to  locate 
the  infinite  ?  As  much  of  it  as  can  be  / 
given  to  man  will  go  to  him  who  has 
learned  to  wonder. 

§78. 

Do  you  know  a  novel  of  Balzac,  belong- 
ing to  the  "  Celibataires "  series,  called 
Pierrette  f  It  is  not  one  of  Balzac's 
masterpieces,  but  it  has  points  of  much 
interest  for  us.  It  is  the  story  of  an 
orphaned  Breton  girl,  a  sweet;  innocent 
child,  who  is  suddenly  snatched  away,  by 
her  evil  star,  from  the  grandparents  who 


Wisdom  and  Destiny- 
adore  her,  and  transferred  to  the  ^  care  of 
an  aunt  and  uncle,  Monsieur  Rogron  and 
his  sister  Sylvia.  A  hard,  gloomy  couple, 
these  two ;  retired  shopkeepers,  who  live 
in  a  dreary  house  in  the  back  streets  of 
a  dreary  country  town.  Their  celibacy 
weighs  heavily  upon  them ;  they  are 
miserly,  and  absurdly  vain;  morose,  and 
instinctively  full  of  hatred. 

The  poor  inoffensive  girl  has  hardly  set 
foot  in  the  house  before  her  martyrdom 
begins.  There  are  terrible  questions  of 
money  and  economy,  ambitions  to  be 
gratified,  marriages  to  be  prevented,  in- 
heritances to  be  turned  aside :  complica- 
tions of  every  kind.  The  neighbours  and 
friends  of  the  Rogrons  behold  the  long 
and  painful  sufferings  of  the  victim  with 
unruffled  tranquillity,  for  their  every 
natural  instinct  leads  them  to  applaud 
the  success  of  the  stronger.  And  at  last 
Pierrette  dies,   as   unhappily    as   she    has 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

lived;  while  the  others  all  triumph — the 
Rogrons,  the  detestable  lawyer  Vinet,  and 
all  those  who  had  helped  them ;  and  the 
subsequent  happiness  of  these  wretches 
remains  wholly  untroubled.  Fate  would 
even  seem  to  smile  upon  them ;  and 
Balzac,  carried  away  in  spite  of  himself  by 
the  reality  of  it  all,  ends  his  story,  almost 
regretfully,  with  these  words  :  "  How  the 
social  villainies  of  this  world  would  thrive 
under  our  laws  if  there  were  no  God  !  " 

We  need  not  go  to  fiction  for  tragedies 
of  this  kind ;  there  are  many  houses  in 
which  they  are  matters  of  daily  occur- 
rence. I  have  borrowed  this  instance  from 
Balzac's  pages  because  the  story  lay  there 
ready  to  hand ;  the  chronicle,  day  by  day, 
of  the  triumph  of  injustice.  The  very 
highest  morality  is  served  by  such  in- 
stances, and  a  great  lesson  is  taught ; 
and  perhaps  the  moralists  are  wrong  who 
try    to    weaken    this    lesson    by    finding 


212 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

excuses  for  the  iniquities  of  fate.  Some 
are  satisfied  that  God  will  give  innocence 
its  due  reward.  Others  tell  us  that  in 
this  case  it  is  not  the  victim  who  has  the 
greatest  claim  upon  our  sympathy.  And 
these  are  doubtless  right,  from  many 
points  of  view ;  for  little  Pierrette,  miser- 
able though  she  was,  and  cruelly  tor- 
mented, did  yet  experience  joys  that  her 
tyrants  never  would  know.  In  the  midst 
of  her  sorrow,  she  remained  gentle,  and 
tender,  and  loving  ;  and  therein  lies 
greater  happiness  than  in  hiding  cruelty, 
hatred,  and  selfishness  beneath  a  smile. 
It  is  sad  to  love  and  be  unloved,  but 
sadder  still  to  be  unable  to  love.  And 
how  great  is  the  difference  between  the 
petty,  sordid  desires,  the  grotesque  de- 
lights, of  the  Rogrons,  and  the  mighty 
longing  that  filled  the  child's  soul  as 
she   looked    forward   to   the    time    when 

injustice    at    last    should    cease  !      Little 
213 


wisdom  and  Destiny- 
wistful  Pierrette  was  perhaps  no  wiser 
than  those  about  her ;  but  before  such 
as  must  bear  unmerited  suffering  there 
stretches  a  wide  horizon,  which  here  and 
again  takes  in  the  joys  that  only  the 
loftiest  know;  even  as  the  horizon  of 
the  earth,  though  not  seen  from  the 
mountain  peak,  would  appear  at  times 
to  be  one  with  the  corner-stone  of  heaven. 
The  injustice  we  commit  speedily  re- 
duces us  to  petty,  material  pleasures ; 
but,  as  we  revel  in  these,  we  envy  our 
victim ;  for  our  tyranny  has  thrown 
open  the  door  to  joys  whereof  we  cannot 
deprive  him — joys  that  are  wholly  be- 
yond our  reach,  joys  that  are  purely 
spiritual.  And  the  door  that  opens  wide 
to  the  victim  is  sealed  in  the  tyrant's 
soul ;  and  the  sufferer  breathes  a  purer 
air  than  he  who  has  made  him  suffer.  In 
the    hearts    of    the    persecuted   there    is 

radiance,  where  those  who  persecute  have 
214 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

only  gloom;  and  is  it  not  on  the  light 
within  us  that  the  wellbeing  of  happiness 
depends  ?  He  who  brings  sorrow  with 
him  stifles  more  happiness  within  himself 
than  in  the  man  he  overwhelms.  Which 
of  us,  had  he  to  choose,  but  would  rather 
be  Pierrette  than  Rogron  ?  The  instinct 
of  happiness  within  us  needs  no  telling 
that  he  who  is  morally  right  must  be 
happier  than  he  who  is  wrong,  though 
the  wrong  be  done  from  the  height  of 
a  throne.  And,  even  though  the  Rogrons 
be  unaware  of  their  injustice,  it  alters 
nothing ;  for,  be  wc  aware  or  unaware  of 
the  evil  we  commit,  the  air  we  breathe 
will  still  be  heavily  charged.  Nay,  more — 
to  him  who  knows  he  does  wrong  there 
may  come,  perhaps,  the  desire  to  escape 
from  his  prison  ;  but  the  other  will  die  in 
his  cell,  without  even  his  thoughts  having 
travelled  beyond  the  gloomy  walls  that 
conceal  from  him  the  true  destiny  of  man. 
215. 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 


§79- 

Why  seek  justice  where  it  cannot  be  ? 
and  where  can  it  be,  save  in  our  soul  ? 
Its  language  is  the  natural  language  of 
the  spirit  of  man ;  but  this  spirit  must 
learn  new  words  ere  it  can  travel  in  the 
universe.  Justice  is  the  very  last  thing 
of  all  wherewith  the  universe  concerns 
itself.  It  is  equilibrium  that  absorbs  its 
attention ;  and  what  we  term  justice  is 
truly  nothing  but  this  equilibrium  trans- 
formed, as  honey  is  nothing  but  a  trans- 
formation of  the  sweetness  found  in  the 
flower.  Outside  man  there  is  no  justice; 
within  him  injustice  cannot  be.  The 
body  may  revel  in  ill-gotten  pleasure, 
but  virtue  alone  can  bring  contentment 
to  the  soul.  Our  inner  happiness  is 
measured  out  to  us  by  an  incorruptible 

judge ;  and  the  mere  endeavour  to  corrupt 
216 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

him  still  further  reduces  the  sum  of  the 
final,  veritable  happiness  he  lets  fall  into 
the  shining  scale.  It  is  lamentable  enough 
that  a  Rogron  should  be  able  to  torture 
a  helpless  child,  and  darken  the  few  hours 
of  life  the  chance  of  the  world  had  given ; 
but  injustice  there  would  be  only  if  his 
wickedness  procured  him  the  inner  happi- 
ness and  peace,  the  elevation  of  thought 
and  habit,  that  long  years  spent  in  love 
and  meditation  had  procured  for  Spinoza 
and  Marcus  Aurelius.  Some  slight  in- 
tellectual satisfaction  there  may  be  in  the 
doing  of  evil ;  but  none  the  less  does  each 
wrongful  deed  clip  the  wings  of  our 
thoughts,  till  at  length  they  can  only 
crawl  amidst  all  that  is  fleeting  and  per- 
sonal. To  commit  an  act  of  injustice  is 
to  prove  we  have  not  yet  attained  the 
happiness  within  our  grasp.  And  in  evil 
— reduce  things  to  their  primal  elements, 

and  you  shall  find  that  even  the  wicked 
217 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

are  seeking  some  measure  of  peace,  a 
certain  up-lifting  of  soul.  They  may 
think  themselves  happy,  and  rejoice  for 
such  dole  as  may  come  to  them;  but 
would  it  have  satisfied  Marcus  Aurelius, 
who  knew  the  lofty  tranquillity,  the  great 
quickening  of  the  soul  ?  Show  a  vast 
lake  to  the  child  who  has  never  beheld 
the  sea,  it  will  clap  its  hands  and  be  glad, 
and  think  the  sea  is  before  it ;  but  there- 
fore none  the  less  does  the  veritable  sea 
exist. 

It  may  be  that  a  man  will  find  happi- 
ness in  the  puny  little  victories  that  his 
vanity,  envy,  or  indifference  win  for  him 
day  after  day.  Shall  we  begrudge  him 
such  happiness,  we,  whose  eyes  can  see 
further  ?  Shall  we  strive  for  his  con- 
sciousness of  life,  for  the  religion  that 
pleases  his  soul,  for  the  conception  of 
the  universe  that  justifies  his  cares  ?     Yet 

out  of  these  things  are  the  banks  made 
218 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

between  which  happiness  flows ;  and  as  they 
are,  so  shall  the  river  be,  in  shallowness 
or  in  depth.  He  may  believe  that  there 
is  a  God,  or  that  there  is  no  God ;  that 
all  ends  in  this  world,  or  that  it  is  pro- 
longed into  the  next;  that  all  is  matter, 
or  that  all  is  spirit.  He  will  believe  these 
things  much  as  wise  men  believe  them ; 
but  do  you  think  his  manner  of  belief 
can  be  the  same  ?  To  look  fearlessly 
upon  life;  to  accept  the  laws  of  nature, 
not  with  meek  resignation,  but  as  her 
sons,  who  dare  to  search  and  question ; 
to  have  peace  and  confidence  within  our 
soul — these  are  the  beliefs  that  make  for 
happiness.  But  to  believe  is  not  enough ; 
all  depends  on  how  we  believe.  I  may 
believe  that  there  is  no  God,  that  I  am 
self-contained,  that  my  brief  sojourn  here 
serves  no  purpose;  that  in  the  economy 
of  this  world  without  limit  my  existence 

counts  for  as  little  as  the  evanescent  hue 
219 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

of  a  flower — I  may  believe  all  this,  in  a 
deeply  religious  spirit,  with  the  infinite 
throbbing  within  me ;  you  may  believe 
in  one  all-powerful  God,  who  cherishes 
and  protects  you,  yet  your  belief  may 
be  mean,  and  petty,  and  small.  I  shall 
be  happier  than  you,  and  calmer,  if  my 
doubt  is  greater,  and  nobler,  and  more 
earnest  than  is  your  faith ;  if  it  has 
probed  more  deeply  into  my  soul,  traversed 
wider  horizons,  if  there  are  more  things 
it  has  loved.  And  if  the  thoughts  and 
feelings  on  which  my  doubt  reposes  have 
become  vaster  and  purer  than  those  that 
support  your  faith,  then  shall  the  God 
of  my  disbelief  become  mightier  and  of 
supremer  comfort  than  the  God  to  whom 
you  cling.  For,  indeed,  belief  and  unbelief 
are  mere  empty  words ;  not  so  the  loyalty, 
the  greatness  and  profoundness  of  the 
reasons  wherefore  we  believe  or  do  not 
believe. 


220 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 


§80. 

We  do  not  choose  these  reasons ;  they 
are  rewards  that  have  to  be  earned. 
Those  we  have  chosen  are  only  slaves  we 
have  happened  to  buy;  and  their  life  is 
but  feeble;  they  hold  themselves  shyly 
aloof,  ever  watching  for  a  chance  to 
escape.  But  the  reasons  we  have  deserved 
stand  faithfully  by  us ;  they  are  so  many 
pensive  Antigones,  on  whose  help  we  may 
ever  rely.  Nor  can  such  reasons  as  these 
be  forcibly  lodged  in  the  soul ;  for  in- 
deed they  must  have  dwelt  there  from 
earliest  days,  have  spent  their  childhood 
there,  nourished  on  our  every  thought 
and  action ;  and  tokens  recalling  a  life  of 
devotion  and  love  must  surround  them  on 
every  side.  And  as  they  throw  deeper* 
root — as  the  mists  clear  away  from   our 

soul   and   reveal    a    still   wider    horizon, 
221 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

so  does  the  horizon  of  happiness  widen 
also  ;  for  it  is  only  in  the  space  that  our 
thoughts  and  our  feelings  enclose  that  our 
happiness  can  breathe  in  freedom.  It  de- 
mands no  material  space,  but  finds  ever 
too  narrow  the  spiritual  fields  we  throw 
open;  wherefore  we  must  unceasingly 
endeavour  to  enlarge  its  territory,  until 
such  time  as,  soaring  up  on  high,  it  finds 
sufficient  aliment  in  the  space  which  it 
does  of  itself  fling  open.  Then  it  is,  and 
then  only,  that  happiness  truly  illumines 
the  most  eternal,  most  human  part  of 
man ;  and  indeed  all  other  forms  of 
happiness  are  merely  unconscious  frag- 
ments of  this  great  happiness,  which,  as  it 
reflects  and  looks  before  it,  is  conscious 
of  no  limit  within  itself  or  in  all  that 
surrounds  it. 


222 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 


§8i, 


(y 


This  space  must  dwindle  daily  in  those 
who  follow  evil,  seeing  that  their  thoughts 
and  feelings  must  of  necessity  dwindle 
also.  But  the  man  who  has  risen  some- 
what will  soon  forsake  the  ways  of  evil ; 
for  look  deep  down  enough  and  you  shall 
ever  find  its  origin  in  straitened  feeling 
and  stunted  thought.  He  does  evil  no 
longer,  because  his  thoughts  are  purer  and 
higher ;  and  now  that  he  is  incapable  of 
evil,  his  thoughts  will  become  purer  still. 
And  thus  do  our  thoughts  and  actions, 
having  won  their  way  into  the  placid 
heaven  where  no  barrier  restrains  the  soul, 
become  as  inseparable  as  the  wings  of  a 
bird ;  and  what  to  the  bird  was  only  a 
law  of  equilibrium  is  here  transformed 
into  a  law  of  justice. 


223 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 


§  82. 

Who  can  tell  whether  the  satisfaction 
derived  from  evil  can  ever  penetrate  to 
the  soul,  unless  there  mingle  with  it  a 
vague  desire,  a  promise,  a  distant  hope, 
of  goodness  or  of  pity  ? 

The  joy  of  the  wretch  whose  victim 
lies  in  his  power  is  perhaps  unredeemed 
in  its  gloom  and  futility,  save  by  the 
thought  of  mercy  that  flashes  across  him. 
Evil  at  times  would  seem  compelled  to 
beg  a  ray  of  light  from  virtue,  to  shed 
lustre  on  its  triumph.  Is  it  possible  for  a 
man  to  smile  in  his  hatred  and  not  borrow 
the  smile  of  love .?  But  the  smile  will  be 
short-lived,  for  here,  as  everywhere,  there 
is  no  inner  injustice.  Within  the  soul  the 
high-water  mark  of  happiness  is  always 
level  with  that  of  justice  or  charity — which 

words  I  use  here  indifferently,  for  indeed 

224 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

what  is   chanty  or  love  but  justice  with 

naught  to  do  but  count  its  jewels  ?     The 

man  who  goes  forth  to  seek  his  happiness 

in  evil  does  merely  prove  thereby  that  he 

is  less  happy  than  the  other  who  watches, 

and  disapproves.     And  yet  his  object   is 

identical   with  that  of  the  upright  man. 

He  too  is  in  search  of  happiness,  of  some 

sort    of  peace    and    certainty.      Of  what 

avail  to  punish  him .?     We  do  not  blame 

the    poor   because    their   home    is   not    a. 

palace  ;  it   is  sad  enough  to  be  compelled 

to  live  in  a  hovel.      He  whose  eyes  can 

see  the  invisible,  knows  that  in  the  soul  of 

the  most  unjust  man  there  is  justice  still : 

justice,  with  all  her  attributes,  her  stainless 

garments    and  holy  activity.     He  knows 

that  the  soul  of  the  sinner  is  ever  balancing 

peace  and  love,  and  the  consciousness  of 

life,  no  less  scrupulously  than  the  soul  of 

philosopher,  saint,  or  hero  ;  that  it  watches 

the  smiles  of  earth  and  sky,  and  is  no  less 
225  V 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

aware  of  all  whereby  those  smiles  are  de- 
stroyed, degraded,  and  poisoned.  We  are 
not  wrong,  perhaps,  to  be  heedful  of  jus- 
tice in  the  midst  of  a  universe  that  heeds 
not  at  all ;  as  the  bee  is  not  wrong  to 
make  honey  in  a  world  that  itself  can 
make  none.  But  we  are  wrong  to  desire 
an  external  justice,  since  we  know  that  it 
does  not  exist.  Let  that  which  is  in  us 
suffice.  All  is  for  ever  being  weighed  and 
judged  in  our  soul.  It  is  we  who  shall 
judge  ourselves ;  or  rather,  our  happiness 
is  our  judge. 


§83- 

It  may  be  urged  that  virtue  is  subject 

to  defeat  and  disappointment,  no  less  than 

vice ;  but  the  defeats  and  disappointments 

of  virtue  bring  with  them  no   gloom  or 

distress,  for  they  do    but  tend  to  soothe 

and  enlighten  our  thoughts.     An  act  of 
226 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

virtue  may  sink  into  the  void,  but  it  is 
then,  most  of  all,  that  we  learn'  to  gauge 
the  depths  of  life  and  of  soul ;  and  often 
will  it  fall  into  these  depths  like  a  radiant 
stone,  beside  which  our  thoughts  loom 
pale.  With  every  vicious  scheme  that 
fails  before  the  innocence  of  Pierrette, 
Madame  Rogron*s  soul  shrivels  anew; 
whereas  the  clemency  of  Titus,  falling  on 
thankless  soil,  does  but  induce  him  to  lift 
his  eyes  on  high,  far  beyond  love  or  pardon. 
There  is  no  gain  in  shutting  out  the  world, 
though  it  be  with  walls  of  righteousness. 
The  last  gesture  of  virtue  should  be  that 
of  an  angel  flinging  open  the  door.  We 
should  welcome  our  disillusions;  for  were 
it  the  will  of  destiny  that  our  pardon 
should  always  transform  an  enemy  into 
a  brother,  then  should  we  go  to  our  grave 
still  unaware  of  all  that  springs  to  light 
within  us  beneath  the  act  of  unwise  cle- 
mency, whose  unwisdom  we  never  regret. 
227 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

We  should  die  without  once  having 
matched  all  that  is  best  in  our  soul 
against  the  forces  that  hedge  life  around. 
The  kindly  deed  that  is  wasted,  the  lofty 
or  only  loyal  thought  that  falls  on  barren 
ground — these  too  have  their  value,  for 
the  light  they  throw  differs  far  from  the 
radiance  triumphant  virtue  suffuses;  and 
thus  may  we  see  many  things  in  their 
differing  aspect.  There  were  surely  much 
joy  in  the  thought  that  love  must  in- 
variably triumph  ;  but  greater  joy  is  there 
still  in  tearing  aside  this  illusion,  and 
marching  straight  on  to  the  truth.  "  Man 
has  been  but  too  prone,"  said  a  philo- 
sopher, whom  death  carried  off  too  soon — 
"man  has  been  but  too  prone,  through 
all  the  course  of  his  history,  to  lodge  his 
dignity  within  his  errors,  and  to  look 
upon  truth  as  a  thing  that  depreciated 
himself.      It    may    sometimes    seem    less 

glorious    than    illusion,    but    it    has    the 
228 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

advantage  of  being  true.  In  the  whole 
domain  of  thought  there  is  nothing  loftier 
than  truth."  And  there  is  no  bitterness 
herein,  for  indeed  to  the  sage  truth  can 
never  be  bitter.  He,  too,  has  had  his 
longings  in  the  past,  has  conceived  that 
truth  might  move  mountains,  that  a  loving 
act  might  for  ever  soften  the  hearts  of 
men ;  but  to-day  he  has  learned  to  prefer 
that  this  should  not  be  so.  Nor  is  it 
overweening  pride  that  thus  has  changed 
him ;  he  does  not  think  himself  more  vir- 
tuous than  the  universe  ;  it  is  his  insignifi- 
cance in  the  universe  that  has  been  made 
clear  to  him.  It  is  no  longer  for  the  spiri- 
tual fruit  it  bears  that  he  tends  the  love 
of  justice  he  has  found  implanted  in  his 
soul,  but  for  the  living  flowers  that  spring 
up  within  him,  and  because  of  his  deep 
respect  for  all  created  things.  He  has  no 
curses  for  the  ungrateful  friend,  nor  even 

for  ingratitude  itself.    He  does  not  say,  "  I 
229 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

am   better   than  that   man,"   or  "  I  shall 

not    fall    into    that    vice."       But    he    is 

taught    by   ingratitude    that  benevolence 

contains  joys  that  are  greater  than  those 

that  gratitude  can  bestow ;  joys  that  are 

less  personal,  but  more  in  harmony  with 

life  as  a  whole.     He  finds  more  pleasure 

in  the  attempt  to  understand  that  which 

is,   than  in   the  struggle  to    believe  that 

which   he   desires.     For  a   long   time  he 

has  been  like  the  beggar  who  was  suddenly 

borne    away   from    his    hut    and   lodged 

in  a  magnificent  palace.     He  awoke  and 

threw  uneasy  glances  about  him,  seeking, 

in    that    immense    hall,    for    the   squalid 

things    he    remembered   to   have   had    in 

his  tiny  room.     Where  were  the  hearth, 

the  bed,  the  table,  stool,  and  basin  ?     The 

humble  torch  of  his  vigils  still  trembled 

by  his  side,  but  its  light  could  not  reach 

the    lofty   ceiling.      The  little  wings    of 

flame  threw  their  feeble   flicker  on  to  a 
230 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

pillar  close  by,  which  was  all  that  stood 

out   from    the    darkness.      But    little   by 

little  his  eyes  grew  accustomed  to  his  new 

abode.     He  wandered  through  room  after 

room,   and  rejoiced    as  profoundly  at  all 

that    his  torch  left  in  darkness  as  at  all 

that    it    threw    into    light.     At    first   he 

could  have  wished  in  his  heart  that  the 

doors  had  been  somewhat  less  lofty,  the 

staircases  not  quite  so  ample,  the  galleries 

less  lost  in  gloom ;  but  as  he  went  straight 

before    him,   he    felt  all   the  beauty  and 

grandeur  of  that  which  was  yet  so  unlike 

the  home  of  his  dream.     He  rejoiced  to 

discover    that    here    bed    and    table    were 

not  the  centre  round  which  all  revolved, 

as  it  had  been  with  him  in  his  hut.     He 

was  glad   that  the    palace  had   not    been 

built  to  conform  with  the  humble  habits 

his  misery  had  forced  upon  him.    He  even 

learned  to  admire  the  things  that  defeated 

his  hopes,  for  they  enabled  his  eyes  to  see 
231 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

deeper.  The  sage  is  consoled  and  fortified 
by  everything  that  exists,  for  indeed  it  is  of 
the  essence  of  wisdom  to  seek  out  all  that 
exists,  and  to  admit  it  within  its  circle. 


§84. 

Wisdom  even  admits  the  Rogrons ; 
for  she  holds  life  of  profounder  interest 
than  even  justice  or  virtue  ;  and  where  her 
attention  is  disputed  by  a  virtue  lost  in 
abstraction,  and  by  a  humble,  walled-in 
life,  she  will  incline  to  the  humble  life, 
and  not  to  the  magnificent  virtue  that 
holds  itself  proudly  aloof.  It  is  of  the 
nature  of  wisdom  to  despise  nothing ;  in- 
deed, in  this  world  there  is  perhaps  only 
one  thing  truly  contemptible,  and  that 
thing  is  contempt  itself.  Thinkers  too 
often  are  apt  to  despise  those  who  go 
through  life  without  thinking.     Thought 

is    doubtless   of    high    value;    our    first 
232 


Wisdom  and  CXeltiny 

endeavour  should  be  to  think  as  often  and 
as  well  as  we  can ;  but,  for  all  that,  it  is 
somewhat  beside  the  mark  to  believe  that 
the  possession,  or  lack,  of  a  certain  faculty 
for  handling  general  ideas  can  interpose 
an  actual  barrier  between  men.  After  all, 
the  difference  between  the  greatest  thinker 
and  the  smallest  provincial  burgher  is 
often  only  the  difference  between  a  truth 
that  can  sometimes  express  itself  and  a 
truth  that  can  never  crystallise  into  form. 
The  difference  is  considerable — a  gap,  but 
not  a  chasm.  The  higher  our  thoughts 
ascend,  the  vainer  and  the  more  arbitrary 
seems  the  distinction  between  him  who 
is  thinking  always  and  him  who  thinks 
not  yet.  The  little  burgher  is  full  of 
prejudice  and  of  passions  at  which  we 
smile ;  his  ideas  are  small  and  petty,  and 
sometimes  contemptible  enough  ;  and  yet, 
place  him  side  by  side  with  the  sage,  be- 
fore an  essential  circumstance  of  life, 
233 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

before  love,  grief,  death,  before  some- 
thing that  calls  for  true  heroism,  and  it 
shall  happen  more  than  once  that  the  sage 
will  turn  to  his  humble  companion  as  to 
the  guardian  of  a  truth  no  less  profound, 
no  less  deeply  human,  than  his  own. 
There  are  moments  when  the  sage  realises 
that  his  spiritual  treasures  are  naught ; 
that  it  is  only  a  few  words,  or  habits,  that 
divide  him  from  other  men ;  there  are 
moments  when  he  even  doubts  the  value 
of  those  words.  Those  are  the  moments 
when  wisdom  flowers  and  sends  forth 
_  blossom.  Thought  may  sometimes  de- 
ceive ;  and  the  thinker  who  goes  astray 
must  often  retrace  his  footsteps  to  the  spot 
whence  those  who  think  not  have  never 
moved  away,  where  they  still  remain  faith- 
fully seated  round  the  silent,  essential  truth. 
They  are  the  guardians  of  the  watch-fires 
of    the    tribe ;    the    others    take    lighted 

torches  and  go  wandering    abroad ;    but 
234 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

when  the  air  grows  heavy  and  threatens 
the  feeble  flame,  then  is  it  well  to  turn 
back  and  draw  close  to  the  watch-fires 
once  more.  These  fires  seem  never  to 
stir  from  the  spot  where  they  always  have 
been ;  but  in  truth  they  ever  are  moving, 
keeping  time  with  the  worlds;  and  their 
flame  marks  the  hour  of  humanity  on  the 
dial  of  the  universe.  We  know  exactly 
how  much  the  inert  forces  owe  to  the 
thinker;  we  forget  the  deep  indebtedness 
of  the  thinker  to  inert  force.  In  a  world 
where  all  were  thinkers,  more  than  one 
indispensable  truth  might  perhaps  for  ever 
be  lost.  For  indeed  the  thinker  must 
never  lose  touch  with  those  who  do  not 
think,  as  his  thoughts  would  then  quickly 
cease  to  be  just  or  profound.  To  disdain 
is  only  too  easy,  not  so  to  understand ; 
but  in  him  who  is  truly  wise  there  passes 
no  thought  of  disdain,  but  it  will,  sooner 

or  later,  evolve  into  full  comprehension. 
235 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

The  thought  that  can  travel  scornfully 
over  the  heads  of  that  great  silent  throng 
without  recognising  its  myriad  brothers 
and  sisters  that  are  slumbering  there  in  its 
midst,  is  only  too  often  merely  a  sterile, 
vicious  dream.  We  do  well  to  remind 
ourselves  at  times  that  the  spiritual,  no 
less  than  the  physical,  atmosphere  de- 
mands more  nitrogen  than  oxygen  for 
the  air  to  be  breathed  by  man. 


§85. 

It  need  not  surprise   us  that  thinkers 

like   Balzac  should  have  loved  to  dwell 

on  these  humble  lives.     Eternal  sameness 

runs  through  them,    and  yet   does   each 

century  mark  profoundest  change  in  the 

atmosphere  that  enwraps  them.     The  sky 

above  has  altered,  but  these  simple  lives 

have  ever  the  self-same  gestures ;   and  it 

is  these  unchanging  gestures  that  tell  of 
236 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

the  altered  sky.  A  great  deed  of  heroism 
fascinates  us;  our  eye  cannot  travel  be- 
yond the  act  itself;  but  insignificant 
thoughts  and  deeds  lead  us  on  to  the 
horizon  beyond  them ;  and  is  not  the 
shining  star  of  human  wisdom  always 
situate  on  the  horizon  ?  If  we  could 
sec  these  things  as  nature  sees  them, 
with  her  thoughts  and  feelings,  we  should 
realise  that  the  uniform  mediocrity  that 
runs  through  these  lives  cannot  truly  be 
mediocre,  from  the  mere  fact  of  its  uni- 
formity. And  indeed  this  matters  but 
little;  we  can  never  judge  another  soul 
above  the  high-water  mark  of  our  own ; 
and  however  insignificant  a  creature  may 
seem  to  us  at  first,  as  our  own  soul 
emerges  from  shadow,  so  does  the  shadow 
lift  from  him.  There  is  nothing  our  eyes 
behold  that  is  too  small  to  deserve  our 
love ;  and  there  where  we  cannot  love,  we 

have  only  to  raise  our  lamp  till  it  reaches 
237 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

the  level  of  love,  and  then  throw  its  light 
around.  Let  only  one  ray  of  this  light 
go  forth  every  day  from  our  soul,  we  may 
then  be  content.  It  matters  not  where 
the  light  falls.  There  is  not  a  thing  in 
this  world  whereupon  your  glance  or  your 
thought  can  rest  but  contains  within  it  more 
treasure  than  either  of  these  can  fathom  ; 
nor  is  there  a  thing  so  small  but  it  has  a 
vastness  within  that  the  light  that  a  soul 
can  spare  can,  at  best,  but  faintly  illumine. 

§  86. 

Is  not  the  very  essence  of  human  des- 
tiny, stripped  of  the  details  that  bewilder 
us,  to  be  found  in  the  most  ordinary 
lives.?  The  mighty  struggle  of  morality 
on  the  heights  is  glorious  to  witness ;  but 
so  will  a  keen  observer  profoundly  admire 
a  magnificent  tree  that  stands  alone  in  a 

desert,  and,  his  contemplation  over,  once 
238 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

more  go  back  to  the  forest,  where  there 
are  no  marvellous  trees,  but  trees  in  count- 
less abundance.  The  immense  forest  is 
doubtless  made  up  of  ordinary  branches 
and  stems ;  but  is  it  not  vast,  is  it  not  as 
it  should  be,  seeing  that  it  is  the  forest  ? 
Not  by  the  exceptional  shall  the  last  word 
ever  be  spoken ;  and  indeed  what  we  call 
the  sublime  should  be  only  a  clearer,  pro- 
founder  insight  into  all  that  is  perfectly 
normal.  It  is  of  service,  often,  to  watch 
those  on  the  peaks  who  do  battle ;  but 
it  is  well,  too,  not  to  forget  those  in  the 
valley  below,  who  fight  not  at  all.  As 
we  sec  all  that  happens  to  those  whose 
life  knows  no  struggle ;  as  we  realise  how 
much  must  be  conquered  in  us  before  we 
can  rightly  distinguish  their  narrower  joys 
from  the  joy  known  to  them  who  are  striv- 
ing on  high,  then  perhaps  does  the  struggle 
itself  appear  to  become  less  important;  but, 

for  all  that,  we  love  it  the  more.    And  the 
239 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

reward  is  the  sweeter  to  us  for  the  silence 
that  enwraps  its  coming ;  nor  is  this  from 
a  desire  to  keep  our  happiness  secret — 
such  as  a  crafty  courtier  might  feel  who 
hugs  fortune's  favours  to  him — but,  per- 
haps, because  it  is  only  when  happiness 
thus  whispers  low  in  our  ear,  and  no  other 
men  know,  that  it  is  not  according  us  joys 
that  are  filched  from  our  brother's  share. 
Then  do  we  no  longer  say  to  ourselves, 
as  we  look  on  those  brothers :  "  How 
great  is  the  distance  between  such  as  these 
and  myself,"  but  in  all  simplicity  do  we 
murmur  at  last  to  ourselves :  "The  loftier 
my  thoughts  become,  the  less  is  there  to 
divide  me  from  the  humblest  of  my  fellow- 
creatures,  from  those  who  are  most  plenti- 
ful on  earth ;  and  every  step  that  I  take 
towards  an  uncertain  ideal,  is  a  step  that 
brings  me  the  nearer  to  those  whom  I 
once  despised,  in  the  vanity  and  ignorance 

of  my  earliest  days." 
240 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

After  all,  what  is  a  humble  life  ?  It 
is  thus  we  choose  to  term  the  life  that 
ignores  itself,  that  drains  itself  dry  in  the 
place  of  its  birth — a  life  whose  feelings 
and  thoughts,  whose  desires  and  passions, 
entwine  themselves  around  the  most  in- 
significant things.  But  it  suffices  to  look 
at  a  life  for  that  life  to  seem  great.  A 
life  in  itself  can  be  neither  great  nor 
small ;  the  largeness  is  all  in  the  eye 
that  surveys  it ;  and  an  existence  that 
all  men  hold  to  be  lofty  and  vast,  is  one 
that  has  long  been  accustomed  to  look 
loftily  on  itself  from  within.  If  you 
have  never  done  this,  your  life  must  be 
narrow ;  but  the  man  who  watches  you 
live  will  discern,  in  the  very  obscurity 
of  the  corner  you  fill,  an  element  of 
horizon,  a  foothold  to  cling  to,  whence 
his  thoughts  will  rise  with  surer  and  more 
human  strength.  There  is  not  an  exist- 
ence about  us  but  at  first  seems  colourless, 

241  Q 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

dreary,  lethargic :  what  can  our  soul  have 
in  common  with  that  of  an  elderly  spin- 
ster, a  slow-witted  ploughman,  a  miser 
who  worships  his  gold  ?  Can  any  con- 
nection exist  between  such  as  these  and 
a  deep-rooted  feeling,  a  boundless  love 
for  humanity,  an  interest  time  cannot 
stale  ?  But  let  a  Balzac  step  forward 
and  stand  in  the  midst  of  them,  with 
his  eyes  and  ears  on  the  watch ;  and  the 
emotion  that  lived  and  died  in  an  old- 
fashioned  country  parlour  shall  as  mightily 
stir  our  heart,  shall  as  unerringly  find  its 
way  to  the  deepest  sources  of  life,  as  the 
majestic  passion  that  ruled  the  life  of  a 
king  and  shed  its  triumphant  lustre  from 
the  dazzling  height  of  a  throne.  "  There 
are  certain  little  agitations,"  says  Balzac  in 
the  Curd  de  Tours^  the  most  admirable 
of  all  his  studies  of  humble  life — "  there 
are  certain  little  agitations  that  are  capable 

of  generating  as  much  passion  within  the 
242 


I 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

soul  as  would  suffice  to  direct  the  most 
important  social  interests.  Is  it  not  a 
mistake  to  imagine  that  time  only  flies 
swiftly  with  those  whose  hearts  are  de- 
voured by  mighty  schemes,  which  fret 
and  fever  their  life  ?  Not  an  hour  sped 
past  the  Abbe  Troubert  but  was  as  ani- 
mated, as  laden  with  its  burden  of  anxious 
thought,  as  lined  with  pleading  hope  and 
deep  despair,  as  could  be  the  most  des- 
perate hour  of  gambler,  plotter,  or  lover. 
God  alone  can  tell  how  much  energy  is 
consumed  in  the  triumphs  we  achieve 
over  men,  and  things,  and  ourselves.  We 
may  not  be  always  aware  whither  our 
steps  are  leading,  but  are  only  too  fully 
conscious  of  the  wearisomeness  of  the 
journey.  And  yet — if  the  historian  may 
be  permitted  to  lay  aside,  for  one  moment, 
the  story  he  is  telling,  and  to  assume 
the  role  of  the  critic — as  you   cast   your 

eyes  on  the  lives  of  these  old  maids  and 
243 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

these   two    priests,   seeking    to    learn   the 

cause  of  the  sorrow  which   twisted  their 

heartstrings,    it  will  be  revealed  to   you, 

perhaps,    that    certain    passions    must    be 

experienced  by  man  for  there  to  develop 

within  him  the  qualities  that  make  a  life 

noble,  that  widen  its  area,  and  stifle  the 

egoism  natural  to  all." 

He    speaks   truly.       Not    for   its    own 

sake,   always,   should   we  love  the  light, 

but  for  the    sake    of  what    it   illumines. 

The  fire  on  the  mountain  shines  brightly, 

but  there  are  few  men  on  the  mountain ; 

and  more  service  may  often  be  rendered 

by  the  torchlight,  there  where  the  crowd 

is.      It    is    in    the    humble    lives    that    is 

found  the  substance  of  great  lives;   and 

by   watching  the  narrowest  feelings  does 

enlargement  come  to   our  own.     Nor  is 

this  from  any  repugnance  these  feelings 

inspire,  but  because  they  no  longer  accord 

with  the  majestic  truth  that  controls  us. 
244 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

It  is  well  to  have  visions  of  a  better 
life  than  that  of  every  day,  but  it  is 
the  life  of  every  day  from  which  elements 
of  a  better  life  must  come.  We  are  told 
we  should  fix  our  eyes  on  high,  far  above 
life;  but  perhaps  it  is  better  still  that 
our  soul  should  look  straight  before  it, 
and  that  the  heights  whereupon  it  should 
yearn  to  lay  all  its  hopes  and  its  dreams 
should  be  the  mountain  peaks  that  stand 
clearly  out  from  the  clouds  that  gild 
the  horizon. 

§87. 

This  brings  us  back  once  again  to 
external  destiny;  but  the  tears  that  ex- 
ternal suffering  wrings  from  us  are  not  the 
only  tears  known  to  man.  The  sage  whom 
we  love  must  dwell  in  the  midst  of  all 
human  passions,  for  only  on  the  passions 
known  to  the  heart  can  his  wisdom  safely 
245 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

be  nourished.  They  are  nature's  artisans, 
sent  by  her  to  help  us  construct  the  palace 
of  our  consciousness — of  our  happiness, 
in  other  words ;  and  he  who  rejects  these 
workers,  deeming  that  he  is  able,  unaided, 
to  raise  all  the  stones  of  life,  will  be  com- 
pelled for  ever  to  lodge  his  soul  in  a  bare 
and  gloomy  cell.  The  wise  man  learns  to 
purify  his  passions ;  to  stifle  them  can 
never  be  proof  of  wisdom.  And,  indeed, 
these  things  are  all  governed  by  the 
position  we  take  as  we  stand  on  the  stairs 
of  time.  To  some  of  us  moral  infirmities 
are  so  many  stairs  tending  downwards ; 
to  others  they  represent  steps  that  lead  us 
on  high.  The  wise  man  perchance  may 
do  things  that  are  done  by  the  unwise  man 
also  ;  but  the  latter  is  forced  by  his  pas- 
sions to  become  the  abject  slave  of  his 
instincts,  whereas  the  sage's  passions  will 
end  by  illumining  much  that  was  vague 

in    his    consciousness.      To    love    madly, 
246 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

perhaps,  is  not  wise ;  still,  should  he  love 
madly,  more  wisdom  will  doubtless  come 
to  him  than  if  he  had  always  loved  wisely. 
It  is  not  wisdom,  but  the  most  useless  form 
of  pride  that  can  flourish  in  vacancy  and 
inertia.  It  is  not  enough  to  know  what 
should  be  done,  not  though  we  can  un- 
erringly declare  what  saint  or  hero  would 
do.  Such  things  a  book  can  teach  in  a 
day.  It  is  not  enough  to  intend  to  live 
a  noble  life  and  then  retire  to  a  cell,  there 
to  brood  over  this  intention.  No  wisdom 
thus  acquired  can  truly  guide  or  beautify 
the  soul ;  it  is  of  as  little  avail  as  the 
counsels  that  others  can  offer.  *'  It  is  in 
the  silence  that  follows  the  storm,"  says  a 
Hindu  proverb,  "and  not  in  the  silence 
before  it,  that  we  should  search  for  the 
budding  flower." 


247 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 


§88.        . 

The  earnest  wayfarer  along  the  paths  of 
life  does  but  become  the  more  deeply  con- 
vinced, as  his  travels  extend,  of  the  beauty, 
the  wisdom,  and  truth  of  the  simplest  and 
humblest  laws  of  existence.  Their  uni- 
formity, the  mere  fact  of  their  being  so 
general,  such  matter  of  every  day,  are  in 
themselves  enough  to  compel  his  admira- 
tion. And  little  by  little  he  holds  the 
abnormal  ever  less  highly,  and  neither  seeks 
nor  desires  it ;  for  it  is  soon  borne  home 
to  him,  as  he  reflects  on  the  vastness  of 
nature,  with  her  slow,  monotonous  move- 
ment, that  the  ridiculous  pretensions  our 
ignorance  and  vanity  put  forth  are  the 
most  truly  abnormal  of  all.  He  no 
longer  vexes  the  hours  as  they  pass  with 
prayer  for  strange  or  marvellous  ad- 
venture ;  for  these  come  only  to  such  as 
248 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

have  not  yet  learned  to  have  faith  in  life 
and  themselves.  He  no  longer  awaits, 
with  folded  arms,  the  chance  for  super- 
human effort ;  for  he  feels  that  he  exists 
in  every  act  that  is  human.  He  no 
longer  requires  that  death,  or  friendship, 
or  love  should  come  to  him  decked  out 
with  garlands  illusion  has  woven,  or 
escorted  by  omen,  coincidence,  presage ; 
but  they  come  in  their  bareness  and 
simpleness,  and  are  always  sure  of  his 
welcome.  He  believes  that  all  that  the 
weak,  and  the  idle,  and  thoughtless  con- 
sider sublime  and  exceptional,  that  the 
full  equivalent  for  the  most  heroic  deed, 
can  be  found  in  the  simple  life  that  is 
bravely  and  wholly  faced.  He  no  longer 
considers  himself  the  chosen  son  of  the 
universe ;  but  his  happiness,  conscious- 
ness, peace  of  mind,  have  gained  all 
that  his  pride  has  lost.      And,  this  point 

once    attained,    then  will   the   miraculous 
249 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

adventures  of  a  St.  Theresa  or  Jean-de-la- 
Croix,  the  ecstasy  of  the  mystics,  the  super- 
natural incidents  of  legendary  loves,  the 
star  of  an  Alexander  or  a  Napoleon — 
then  will  all  these  seem  the  merest 
childish  illusions  compared  with  the 
healthy  wisdom  of  a  loyal,  earnest  man, 
who  has  no  craving  to  soar  above  his 
fellows  so  as  to  feel  what  they  cannot 
feel,  but  whose  heart  and  brain  find  the 
light  that  they  need  in  the  unchanging 
feelings  of  all.  The  truest  man  will 
never  be  he  who  desires  to  be  other  than 
man.  How  many  there  are  that  thus 
waste  their  lives,  scouring  the  heavens  for 
sight  of  the  comet  that  never  will  come ; 
but  disdaining  to  look  at  the  stars,  be- 
cause these  can  be  seen  by  all,  and, 
moreover,  are  countless  in  number  !  This 
craving  for  the  extraordinary  is  often  the 
special    weakness    of   ordinary  men,   who 

fail    to   perceive   that    the    more   normal, 
250 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

and  ordinary,  and  uniform  events  may 
appear  to  us,  the  more  are  we  able  to 
appreciate  the  profound  happiness  that 
this  uniformity  enfolds,  and  the  nearer 
are  we  drawn  to  the  truth  and  tranquillity 
of  the  great  force  by  which  we  have 
being.  What  can  be  less  abnormal  than 
the  ocean,  which  covers  two-thirds  of  the 
globe ;  and  yet,  what  is  there  more  vast  ? 
There  is  not  a  thought  or  a  feeling,  not 
an  act  of  beauty  or  nobility,  whereof  man 
is  capable,  but  can  find  complete  expres- 
sion in  the  simplest,  most  ordinary  life ; 
and  all  that  cannot  be  expressed  therein 
must  of  necessity  belong  to  the  falsehoods 
of  vanity,  ignorance,  or  sloth. 

§89. 

Does  this  mean  that  the  wise  man  should 

expect  no  more  from  life  than  other  men : 

that  he  should  love  mediocrity  and  limit 
251 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

his  desires  ;  content  himself  with  little  and 
restrict  the  horizon  of  his  happiness,  be- 
cause of  the  fear  lest  happiness  escape 
him  ?  By  no  means ;  for  the  wisdom 
is  halting  and  sickly  that  can  too  freely 
renounce  a  legitimate  human  hope.  Many 
desires  in  man  may  be  legitimate  still, 
notwithstanding  the  disapproval  of  reason, 
sometimes  unduly  severe.  But  the  fact 
that  our  happiness  does  not  seem  extra- 
ordinary to  those  about  us  by  no  means 
warrants  our  thinking  that  we  are  not 
happy.  The  wiser  we  are,  the  more  readily 
do  we  perceive  that  happiness  lies  in  our 
grasp ;  that  it  has  no  more  enviable 
gift  than  the  uneventful  moments  it 
brings.  The  sage  has  learnt  to  quicken 
and  love  the  silent  substance  of  life.  In 
this  silent  substance  only  can  faithful  joys 
be  found,  for  abnormal  happiness  never 
ventures  to  go  with  us  to  the  tomb.     The 

day  that  comes  and  goes  without  special 
252 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

whisper  of  hope  or  happiness  should  be  as 
dear  to  us,  and  as  welcome,  as  any  one  of 
its  brothers.  On  its  way  to  us  it  has 
traversed  the  same  worlds  and  the  self- 
same space  as  the  day  that  finds  us  on 
a  throne  or  enthralled  by  a  mighty  love. 
The  hours  are  less  dazzling,  perhaps,  that 
its  mantle  conceals ;  but  at  least  we  may 
rely  more  fully  on  their  humble  devotion. 
There  are  as  many  eternal  minutes  in  the 
week  that  goes  by  in  silence,  as  in  the  one 
that  comes  boldly  towards  us  with  mighty 
shout  and  clamour.  And  indeed  it  is  we 
who  tell  ourselves  all  that  the  hour  would 
seem  to  say;  for  the  hour  that  abides 
with  us  is  ever  a  timid  and  nervous  guest, 
that  will  smile  if  its  host  be  smiling,  or 
weep  if  his  eyes  be  wet.  It  has  been 
charged  with  no  mission  to  bring  happi- 
ness to  us ;  it  is  we  who  should  comfort 
the  hour  that  has  sought  refuge  within 
our  soul.  And  he  is  wise  who  always 
a53 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

finds  words  of  peace  that  he  can  whisper 
low  to  his  guest  on  the  threshold.  We 
should  let  no  opportunity  for  happiness 
escape  us,  and  the  simplest  causes  of 
happiness  should  be  ever  stored  in  our 
soul.  It  is  well,  at  first,  to  know  happiness 
as  men  conceive  it,  so  that,  later,  we  may 
have  good  reason  for  preferring  the  happi- 
ness of  our  choice.  For,  herein,  it  is  not 
unlike  what  we  are  told  of  love.  To 
know  what  real  love  should  be  we  must 
have  loved  profoundly,  and  that  first  love 
must  have  fled.  It  is  well  to  know 
moments  of  material  happiness,  since  they 
teach  us  where  to  look  for  loftier  joys; 
and  all  that  we  gain,  perhaps,  from 
listening  to  the  hours  that  babble  aloud 
in  their  wantonness  is  that  we  are 
slowly  learning  the  language  of  the 
hours  whose  voice  is  hushed.  And 
of  these   there   are  many;   they  come   in 

battalions,  so  close  on  the  heels  of  each 
254 


I 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

other  that  treachery  and  flight  cannot  be ; 
wherefore  it  is  on  them  alone  that  the 
sage  should  depend.  For  he  will  be  happy 
whose  eyes  have  learned  to  detect  the 
hidden  smile  and  mysterious  jewels  of  the 
myriad,  nameless  hours ;  and  where  are 
these  jewels  to  be  found,  if  not  in  our- 
selves ? 


§90. 

But  there  is  a  kind  of  ignoble  discretion 
that  has  least  in  common,  of  all  things, 
with  the  wisdom  we  speak  of  here ;  for 
we  had  far  better  spend  our  energy  round 
even  fruitless  happiness,  than  slumber  by 
the  fireside  awaiting  joys  that  never  may 
come.  Only  the  joys  that  have  been  offered 
to  all,  and  none  have  accepted,  will  knock 
at  his  door  who  refuses  himself  to  stir 
forth.  Nor  is  the  other  man  wise  who 
holds  the  reins  too  tight  on  his  feelings, 
255 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

and  halts  them  when  reason  commands,  or 

experience  whispers.     The   friend  is   not 

wise  who  will  not  confide   in   his  friend, 

remembering  always  that  friendships  may 

come  to  an  end ;  nor  the  lover,  who  draws 

back  for  fear  lest  he  may  find  shipwreck 

in  love.     For  here,  were  we  twenty  times 

unfortunate,  it  is  still  only  the  perishable 

portion  of  our  energy  for  happiness  that 

suffers ;  and  what  is  wisdom  after  all  but 

this  same  energy  for  happiness   cleansed 

of  all  that  is  impure  .?      To  be   wise  we 

must  first  learn  to  be  happy,  that  we  may 

attach   ever  smaller    importance  to   what 

happiness  may  be  in  itself.     We  should  be 

as  happy  as  possible,  and   our  happiness 

should  last  as  long  as  is  possible  ;  for  those 

who  can  finally  issue  forth  from  self  by 

the   portal   of  happiness,   know   infinitely 

wider  freedom  than  those  who  pass  through 

the  gate  of  sadness.     The  joy  of  the  sage 

illumines    his    heart    and    his    soul    alike, 
256 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

whereas  sadness  most  often  throws  light 
on  the  heart  alone.  One  might  almost 
compare  the  man  who  had  never  been 
happy  with  a  traveller  whose  every 
journey  had  been  taken  by  night.  More- 
over, there  is  in  happiness  a  humility 
deeper  and  nobler,  purer  and  wider,  than 
sorrow  can  ever  procure.  There  is  a  cer- 
tain humility  that  ranks  with  parasitic 
virtues,  such  as  sterile  self-sacrifice,  arbi- 
trary chastity,  blind  submission,  fanatic 
renouncement,  penitence,  false  shame,  and 
many  others,  which  have  from  time  imme- 
morial turned  aside  from  their  course  the 
waters  of  human  morality,  and  forced  them 
into  a  stagnant  pool,  around  which  our 
memory  still  lingers.  Nor  do  I  speak  of 
a  cunning  humility  that  is  often  mere 
calculation,  or,  taken  at  its  best,  a  timidity 
that  has  its  root  in  pride — a  loan  at  usury 
that  our  vanity  of  to-day  extends  to 
our    vanity    of    to-morrow.      And    even 

257  R 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

the  sage  at  times  conceives  it  well  to 
lower  himself  in  his  own  self-esteem,  and 
to  deny  superior  merits  that  are  his 
when  comparing  himself  with  other  men. 
Humility  of  this  kind  may  throw  a  charm 
around  our  ways  of  life,  but  yet,  sincere  as 
it  doubtless  may  be,  it  nevertheless  attacks 
the  loyalty  due  to  ourselves,  which  we 
should  value  high  above  all.  And  it 
surely  implies  a  certain  timidity  of  con- 
science ;  whereas  the  conscience  of  the  sage 
should  harbour  neither  timidity  nor  shame. 
But  by  the  side  of  this  too  personal  humility 
there  exists  another  humility  that  extends 
to  all  things,  that  is  lofty  and  strong, 
that  has  fed  on  all  that  is  best  in  our 
brain  and  our  heart  and  our  soul.  It  is 
a  humility  that  defines  the  limit  of  the 
hopes  and  adventures  of  men  ;  that  lessens 
us  only  to  add  to  the  grandeur  of  all  we 
behold ;  that  teaches  us  where  we  should 

look    for   the    true    importance    of   man, 

258 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

which   lies  not  in  that  which  he  is,  but 

in  that  which  his  eyes  can  take  in,  which 

he  strives  to  accept  and  to  grasp.     It  is 

true  that  sorrow  will  also  bring  us  to  the 

realm  of  this  humility ;  but  it  hastens  us 

through,    branching  ofF  on  the    road  to 

a    mysterious    gate    of    hope,    on    whose 

threshold    we    lose    many   days ;    whereas 

happiness,  that  after  the  first   few  hours 

has  nothing  else  left  to  do,  will  lead  us 

in  silence  through  path  after  path  till  we 

reach    the    most    unforeseen,    inaccessible 

places  of  all.     It  is  when  the  sage  knows 

he  possesses  at  last  all  man  is  allowed  to 

possess,  that  he  begins  to  perceive  that  it 

is    his   manner   of   regarding    what    man 

may  never  possess,   that    determines    the 

value  of  such  things  as  he  truly  may  call 

his  own.     And  therefore   must  we   long 

have   sunned    ourselves    in    the    rays    of 

happiness  before  we  can  truly  conceive  an 

independent  view  of  life.     We  must  be 
259 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

happy,  not  for  happiness'  sake,  but  so  that 
we  may  learn  to  see  distinctly  that  which 
vain  expectation  of  happiness  would  for 
ever  hide  from  our  gaze. 

§91- 

Economy  avails  us  nothing  in  the  region 
of  the  heart,  for  it  is  there  that  men 
gather  the  harvest  of  life's  very  substance ; 
it  were  better  that  nothing  were  done  there 
than  that  things  should  be  done  by  halves  ; 
and  that  which  we  have  not  dared  to  risk 
is  most  surely  lost  of  all.  To  limit  our 
passions  is  only  to  limit  ourselves,  and  we 
are  the  losers  by  just  so  much  as  we  hoped 
to  gain.  There  are  certain  fastnesses  with- 
in our  soul  that  lie  buried  so  deep  that 
love  alone  dare  venture  down ;  and  it 
returns  laden  with  undreamed-of  jewels, 
whose  lustre  can  only  be  seen  as  they  pass 

from  our  open  hand  to  the  hand  of  one 
260 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

we  love.  And  indeed  it  would  seem  that 
so  clear  a  light  springs  from  our  hands  as 
they  open  thus  to  give,  that  it  penetrates 
substance  too  opaque  to  yield  to  the 
mysterious  rays  just  discovered. 

§92. 

It  avails  us  nothing  unduly  to  bemoan 

our  errors  or  losses.      For  happen  what 

may  to  the  man  of  simple  faith,  still,  at 

the  last  minute  of  the  sorrow-laden  hour, 

at  the  end  of  the  week  or  year,  still  will 

he   find   some    cause  for   gladness   as   he 

turns    his  eyes  within.      Little    by    little 

he    has    learned  to    regret   without  tears. 

He  is  as  a  father  might  be  who  returns 

to   his    home   in    the    evening,    his    day's 

work  done.      He  may  find  his    children 

in    tears    perhaps,   or   playing   dangerous, 

forbidden  games ;  the  furniture  scattered, 

glasses  broken,  a  lamp  overturned ;    but 
261 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

shall  he  therefore  despair  ?  It  would  cer- 
tainly have  been  better  had  the  children 
been  more  obedient,  had  they  quietly 
learned  their  lessons — this  would  have  been 
more  in  keeping  with  every  moral  theory ; 
but  how  unreasonable  the  father  who,  in 
the  midst  of  his  harsh  rebuke,  could  with- 
hold a  smile  as  he  turned  his  head  away ! 
The  children  have  acted  unwisely,  per- 
haps, in  their  exuberance  of  life ;  but 
why  should  this  distress  him?  All  is 
well,  so  long  as  he  return  home  at  night, 
so  long  as  he  ever  keep  about  him  the  key 
of  the  guardian  dwelling.  As  we  look 
into  ourselves,  and  pass  in  review  what  our 
heart,  and  brain,  and  soul  have  attempted 
and  carried  through  while  we  were  away, 
the  benefit  lies  far  more  in  the  search- 
ing glance  itself  than  in  the  actual  inspec- 
tion. And  if  the  hours  have  not  once 
let  fall   their   mysterious   girdle   on  their 

way  past  our  threshold ;  if  the  rooms  be 
262 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

as  empty  as  on  the  day  of  departure, 
and  those  within  have  but  sat  with  folded 
arms  and  worked  not  at  all — still,  as  we 
enter,  shall  something  be  learned  from 
our  echoing  footsteps,  of  the  extent,  and 
the  clearness,  and  the  fidelity,  of  our 
home. 


^  93. 

No  day  can  be  uneventful,  save  in  our- 
selves alone;  but  in  the  day  that  seems 
most  uneventful  of  all,  there  is  still  room 
for  the  loftiest  destiny ;  for  there  is  far 
more  scope  for  such  destiny  within  our- 
selves than  on  the  whole  continent  of 
Europe.  Not  by  the  extent  of  empire  is 
the  range  of  destiny  governed,  but,  indeed, 
by  the  depth  of  our  soul.  It  is  in  our 
conception  of  life  that  real  destiny  is 
found ;    when    at    last    there    is    delicate 

balance  between  the  insoluble  questions  of 
263 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

heaven  and  the  wavering  response  of  our 
soul.  And  these  questions  become  the 
more  tranquil  as  they  seem  to  comprise 
more  and  more  ;  and  to  the  sage,  whatever 
may  happen  will  still  widen  the  scope  of 
the  questions,  still  give  deeper  confidence 
to  the  reply.  Speak  not  of  destiny  when 
the  event  that  has  brought  you  joy  or 
sadness  has  still  altered  nothing  in  your 
manner  of  regarding  the  universe.  All 
that  remains  to  us  when  love  and  glory 
aic  over,  when  adventures  and  passions 
have  faded  into  the  past,  is  but  a  deeper 
and  ever-deepening  sense  of  the  infinite ; 
and  if  we  have  not  that  within  us,  then 
are  we  destitute  indeed.  And  this  sense 
of  the  infinite  is  more  than  a  mere  assem- 
blage of  thoughts,  which,  indeed,  are  but 
the  innumerable  steps  that  thither  lead. 
There  is  no  happiness  in  happiness  itself, 
unless  it  help  our  comprehension  of  the 

rest,  unless  it  help  us  in  some  measure  to 

264 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

conceive  that  the  very  universe  itself  must 
rejoice  in  existence.  The  sage  who  has 
attained  a  certain  height  will  find  peace 
in  all  things  that  happen ;  and  the  event 
that  saddens  him,  as  other  men,  tarries  but 
an  instant  ere  it  goes  to  strengthen  his 
deep  perception  of  life.  He  who  has 
learned  to  see  in  all  things  only  matter  for 
unselfish  wonder,  can  be  deprived  of  no 
satisfaction  whatever  without  there  spring 
to  sudden  life  within  him,  from  the  mere 
feeling  that  this  joy  can  be  dispensed  with, 
a  high  protecting  thought  that  enfolds 
him  in  its  light.  That  destiny  is  beautiful 
wherein  each  event,  though  charged  with 
joy  or  sadness,  has  brought  reflection  to 
us,  has  added  something  to  our  range 
of  soul,  has  given  us  greater  peace 
wherewith  to  cling  to  life.  And,  in- 
deed, the  accident  that  robs  us  of 
our  love,  that  leads  us  along  in  triumph, 

or  even  that  seats  us  on  a  throne,  reveals 
265 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

but  little  of  the  workings  of  destiny ; 
which,  indeed,  lie  far  more  in  the  thoughts 
that  arise  in  our  mind  as  we  look  at  the 
men  around  us,  at  the  woman  we  love ; 
as  we  dwell  on  the  feelings  within  us ;  as 
we  fix  our  eyes  on  the  evening  sky  with 
its  crown  of  indifferent  stars. 


S94- 

A  woman  of  extraordinary  beauty  and 

talent,  possessed  of  the  rarest  qualities  of 

mind  and  soul,  was  one  day  asked  by  a 

friend,    to   whom    she   seemed    the    most 

perfect    creature    on    earth :     "  What    are 

your  plans  ?     Can  any  man  be  worthy  of 

your  love  ?     Your  future  puzzles  me.     I 

cannot   conceive   a  destiny  that   shall    be 

lofty  enough  for  a  soul  such  as  yours." 

He  knew  but  little  of  destiny.     To  him, 

as     to     most     men,     it     meant     thrones, 

triumphs,     dazzling     adventures :     these 
266 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

things  seemed  to  him  the  sum  of  a 
human  destiny ;  whereby  he  did  but  prove 
that  he  knew  not  what  destiny  was. 
And,  in  the  first  place,  why  this  disdain 
of  to-day?  To  disdain  to-day  is  to 
prove  that  yesterday  has  been  misunder- 
stood. To  disdain  to-day  is  to  declare 
oneself  a  stranger,  and  what  can  you  hope 
to  do  in  a  world  where  you  shall  ever 
pass  as  a  stranger?  To-day  has  this 
advantage  over  yesterday,  that  it  exists 
and  was  made  for  us.  Be  to-day  what 
it  will,  it  has  wider  knowledge  than 
yesterday;  and  by  that  alone  does  it 
become  more  beautiful,  and  vaster.  Why 
should  we  think  that  the  woman  I  speak 
of  would  have  known  a  more  brilliant 
destiny  in  Venice,  Florence,  or  Rome  ? 
Her  presence  might  have  been  sought  at 
magnificent  festival,  and  her  beauty  have 
found  a  fitting  surrounding   in  exquisite 

landscape.     She    might  have  had  princes 
267 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

and  kings,  the  elect  of  the  world,  at  her 

feet ;  and  perhaps  it  had  needed  but  one 

of  her  smiles  to  add  to  a  great  nation's 

gladness,  to  ennoble  or  chasten  the  thought 

of  an  epoch.     Whereas  here  all  her  life 

will  be  spent  among  four  or  five  people 

— four  or  five  souls  that  know  of  her  soul, 

and  love  her.     It  may  be  that  she  never 

shall  stir  from  her  dwelling ;  that  of  her 

life,   of  her  thoughts,   and    the  strength 

that   is  in   her,   there   will    remain   not   a 

trace  among   men.     It   may  be   that    her 

beauty,    her    force    and    her    instinct    for 

good,  will  be  buried  within  her :    in  her 

heart  and  the  hearts  of  the  few  who  are 

near.      And    even   then,    and   if  this    be 

so,  the  soul  of  this  woman  doubtless  shall 

find  its   own   thing  to  do.     The  mighty 

gates   through  which  we  must  pass  to  a 

helpful    and    noteworthy   life    no    longer 

grate  on  their  hinges  with  the  deafening 

clamour     of    old.       They     are     smaller, 
268 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

perhaps,  than  they  were  ;  less  vast  and  im- 
posing ;  but  their  number  is  greater  to-day, 
and  they  admit  us,  in  silence,  to  paths 
that  extend  very  far.  And  even  though 
the  home  of  this  woman  be  not  brightened 
by  one  single  gleam  from  without,  will 
she  have  failed  to  fulfil  her  destiny  be- 
cause her  life  is  lived  in  the  shade  ? 
Cannot  destiny  be  beautiful  and  complete 
in  itself,  without  help  from  without  ?  As 
the  soul  that  has  truly  conquered  surveys 
the  triumphs  of  the  past,  it  is  glad  of 
those  only  that  brought  with  them  a  deeper 
knowledge  of  life  and  a  nobler  humility ; 
of  those  that  lent  sweeter  charm  to  the 
moments  when  love,  glory,  and  enthusiasm 
having  faded  away,  the  fruit  that  a  few 
hours  of  boiling  passion  had  ripened  was 
gathered  in  meditation  and  silence.  When 
the  feasting  is  over :  when  charity, 
kindness   and   valorous    deed    all    lie    far 

behind  us :  what  is  there  left  to  the  soul 
269 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

but  some  stray  recollections,  a  gain  of 
some  consciousness,  and  a  feeling  that 
helps  us  to  look  on  our  place  in  the 
world  with  more  knowledge  and  less 
apprehension — a  feeling  blent  with  some 
wisdom,  from  the  numberless  things  it 
has  learned  ?  When  the  hour  for  rest 
has  sounded — as  it  must  sound  every 
night  and  at  every  moment  of  solitude — 
when  the  gaudy  vestments  of  love,  and 
glory,  and  power  fall  helplessly  round 
us ;  what  is  it  we  can  take  with  us  as 
we  seek  refuge  within  ourselves,  where 
the  happiness  of  each  day  is  measured  by 
the  knowledge  the  day  has  brought  us, 
by  the  thoughts  and  the  confidence  it 
has  helped  us  to  acquire  ?  Is  our  true 
destiny  to  be  found  in  the  things  which 
take  place  about  us,  or  in  that  which 
abides  in  our  soul  ?  "  Be  a  man's  power 
or  glory  never  so  great,"  said  a  philoso- 
pher, "  his  soul  soon  learns  how  to  value 
270 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

the  feelings  that  spring  from  external 
events ;  and  as  he  perceives  that  no  in- 
crease has  come  to  his  physical  faculties, 
that  these  remain  wholly  unchanged, 
neither  altered  nor  added  to,  then  does 
the  sense  of  his  nothingness  burst  full 
upon  him.  The  king  who  should  govern 
the  world  must  still,  like  the  rest  of  his 
brothers,  revolve  in  a  limited  circle,  whose 
every  law  must  be  obeyed ;  and  on  his 
impressions  and  thoughts  must  his  happi- 
ness wholly  depend."  The  impressions 
his  memory  retains,  we  might  add,  be- 
cause they  have  chastened  his  mind ;  for 
the  souls  that  we  deal  with  here  will  retain 
such  impressions  only  as  have  quickened 
their  sense  of  goodness,  as  have  made 
them  a  little  more  noble.  Is  it  impossible 
to  find — it  matters  not  where,  nor  how 
great  be  the  silence — the  same  undissolv- 
able  matter  that  lurks  in  the  cup  of  the 
noblest  external  existence  ?  and  seeing  that 


271 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

nothing  is  truly  our  own  till  it  faithfully 
follow  us  into  the  darkness  and  silence, 
why  should  the  thing  that  has  sprung  to 
life  there  be  less  faithful  in  silence  and 
darkness  ?  But  we  will  pursue  this  no 
farther,  for  it  leads  to  a  wisdom  of  over- 
much theory.  For  all  that  a  brilliant  ex- 
terior destiny  is  not  indispensable,  still 
should  we  always  regard  it  as  wholly  de- 
sirable, and  pursue  it  as  keenly  as  though 
we  valued  it  highly.  It  behoves  the  sage 
to  knock  at  the  door  of  every  temple  of 
glory,  of  every  dwelling  where  happiness, 
love,  and  activity  are  to  be  found.  And 
if  his  strenuous  effort  and  long  expecta- 
tion remain  unrewarded,  if  no  door  fly 
open,  still  may  he  find,  perhaps,  in  the 
mere  expectation  and  effort  an  equivalent 
for  all  the  emotions  and  light  that  he 
sought.  "  To  act,"  says  Barres,  "  is  to 
annex    to    our    thoughts    vaster  fields   of 

experience."     It  is  also,  perhaps,  to  think 
272 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

more  quickly  than  thought,  as  more  com- 
pletely ;  for  we  no  longer  think  with  the 
brain  alone,  but  with  every  atom  of  life. 
It  is  to  wrap  round  with  dream  the  pro- 
foundest  sources  of  thought,  and  then  to 
confront  them  with  fact.  But  to  act  is 
not  always  to  conquer.  To  attempt,  to 
be  patient,  and  wait — these,  too,  may  be 
action ;  as  also,  to  hear,  to  watch,  and  be 
silent. 

If  the  lot  of  the  woman  we  speak  of 
had  been  cast  in  Athens,  or  Florence,  or 
Rome,  there  had  been,  in  her  life,  certain 
motives  of  grandeur,  occasions  for  beauty 
and  happiness,  that  she  may  well  never 
meet  with  to-day.  And  she  is  the  poorer 
for  lacking  the  efforts  she  might  have  put 
forth,  the  memory  of  what  might  have 
been  done ;  for  in  these  lies  a  force  that 
is  precious  and  vital,  that  often  indeed 
will  transform   many  more  things  within 

us,    than    a    thought    which    is    morally, 
273  s 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

mentally  worth  many  thousand  such  efforts 
and  memories.  And  indeed  it  is  there- 
fore alone  that  we  should  desire  a  brilliant, 
feverish  destiny ;  because  it  summons  to 
life  certain  forces  and  feelings  that  would 
otherwise  never  emerge  from  the  slum- 
berous peace  of  an  over-tranquil  existence. 
But  from  the  moment  we  know,  or  even 
suspect,  that  these  feelings  lie  dormant 
within  us,  we  are  already  giving  life  to  all 
that  is  best  in  those  feelings ;  and  it  is  as 
though  we  were,  for  one  brief  moment, 
looking  down  upon  a  glorious  external 
destiny  from  heights  such  destiny  shall 
only  attain  at  the  end  of  its  days ;  as 
though  we  were  prematurely  gathering 
the  fruit  of  the  tree,  which  it  shall  itself 
still  find  barren  until  many  a  storm  has 
passed. 


274 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 


§95. 

Last  night,  re-reading  Saint-Simon — 
with  whom  we  seem  to  ascend  a  lofty 
tower,  whence  our  gaze  rests  on  hundreds 
of  human  destinies,  astir  in  the  valley  below 
— I  understood  what  a  beautiful  destiny 
meant  to  the  instinct  of  man.  It  would 
doubtless  have  puzzled  Saint-Simon  him- 
self to  have  told  what  it  was  that  he 
loved  and  admired  in  some  of  his  heroes, 
whom  he  enwraps  in  a  sort  of  resigned, 
and  almost  unconscious,  respect.  Thou- 
sands of  virtues  that  he  esteemed  highly 
have  ceased  to  exist  to-day,  and  many 
a  quality  now  seems  petty  indeed  that 
he  commended  in  some  of  his  great  ones. 
And  yet  are  there,  unperceived  as  it  were 
by  him,  four  or  five  men  in  the  midst  of 
the  glittering  crowd  hard  by  the  monarch's 
throne,  four  or  five  earnest,  benevolent  faces 
275 


Wisdom  and   Destiny 

on  whom  our  eye  still  rests  gladly;  though 
Saint-Simon  gives  them  no  special  atten- 
tion or  thought,  for  in  his  heart  he 
looks  with  disfavour  on  the  ideas  that 
govern  their  life.  Fenelon  is  there ;  the 
Dukes  of  Chevreuseand  Beauvilliers;  there 
is  Monsieur  le  Dauphin.  Their  happi- 
ness is  no  greater  than  that  of  the  rest 
of  mankind.  They  achieve  no  marked 
success,  they  gain  no  resplendent  victory. 
They  live  as  the  others  live — in  the  fret 
and  expectation  of  the  thing  that  we 
choose  to  call  happiness,  because  it  has 
yet  to  come.  Fenelon  incurs  the  dis- 
pleasure of  the  crafty,  bigoted  king, 
who,  for  all  his  pride,  would  resent  the 
most  trivial  offence  with  the  humble- 
ness of  humblest  vanity;  who  was  great 
in  small  things,  and  petty  in  all  that 
was  great— for  such  was  Louis  XIV. 
Fenelon  is  condemned,  persecuted,  exiled. 

The  Dukes  of  Chevreuse  and  Beauvilliers 
276 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

continue  to  hold  important  office  at 
Court,  but  none  the  less  deem  it  prudent 
to  live  in  a  kind  of  voluntary  retirement. 
The  Dauphin  is  not  in  favour  with  the 
King ;  a  powerful,  envious  clique  are 
for  ever  intriguing  against  him,  and  they 
finally  succeed  in  crushing  his  youthful 
military  glory.  He  lives  in  the  midst 
of  disgrace,  misadventure,  disaster,  that 
seem  irreparable  in  the  eyes  of  that  vain 
and  servile  Court ;  for  disgrace  and  dis- 
aster assume  the  proportions  the  manners 
of  the  day  accord.  Finally  he  dies,  a 
few  days  after  the  death  of  the  wife 
he  had  loved  so  tenderly.  He  dies — 
poisoned,  perhaps,  as  she  too ;  the  thun- 
derbolt falling  just  as  the  very  first  rays 
of  kingly  favour,  whereon  he  had  almost 
ceased  to  count,  were  stealing  over  his 
threshold.  Such  were  the  troubles  and 
misfortunes,  the  sorrows  and  disappoint- 
ments, that  wrapped  these  lives  round ; 


277 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

and  yet,  as  we  look  on  this  little  group, 
standing  firm  and  silent  in  the  midst 
of  the  feverish,  intermittent  glitter  of 
the  rest,  then  do  these  four  destinies 
seem  truly  beautiful  to  us,  and  enviable. 
Through  all  their  vicissitudes  one  com- 
mon light  shines  through  them.  The 
great  soul  of  F^nelon  illumines  them 
all.  Fenelon  is  faithful  to  his  loftiest 
thoughts  of  piety,  meekness,  wonder, 
justice,  and  love ;  and  the  other  three 
are  faithful  to  him,  who  was  their 
master  and  friend.  And  what  though 
the  mystic  ideas  of  Fenelon  be  no  longer  ., 
shared  by  us :  what  though  the  ideas 
that  we  cling  to  ourselves,  and  deem 
the  profoundest  and  noblest — the  ideas 
that  live  at  the  root  of  our  every  conviction 
of  life,  that  have  served  as  the  basis  of  all 
our  moral  happiness — what  though  these 
should  one  day  fall   in   ruins  behind   us, 

and   only  arouse  a  smile  among  such  as 

278 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

believe  that  they^have  found  other  thoughts 
still,  which  to  them  seem  more  human, 
and  final?  Thought,  of  itself,  is  pos- 
sessed of  no  vital  importance ;  it  is  the 
feelings  awakened  within  us  by  thought 
that  ennoble  and  brighten  our  life. 
Thought  is  our  aim,  perhaps ;  but  it  may 
be  with  this  as  with  many  a  journey  we 
take — the  place  we  are  bound  for  may 
interest  us  less  than  the  journey  itself,  the 
people  we  meet  on  the  road,  the  unfore- 
seen that  may  happen.  Here,  as  every- 
where, it  is  only  the  sincerity  of  human 
feeling  that  abides.  As  for  a  thought,  we 
know  not,  it  maybe  deceptive;  but  the  love, 
wherewith  we  have  loved  it,  will  surely 
return  to  our  soul ;  nor  can  a  single  drop  of 
its  clearness  or  strength  be  abstracted  by 
error.  Of  that  perfect  ideal  that  each  of 
us  strives  to  build  up  in  himself,  the  sum 
total  of  all  our  thoughts  will  help  only  to 

model  the  outline ;  but  the  elements  that 
279 


Wisdom  and  Destiny- 
go  to  construct  it,  and  keep  it  alive,  are 
the  purified  passion,  unselfishness,  loyalty, 
wherein  these  thoughts  have  had  being. 
The  extent  of  our  love  for  the  thing 
which  we  hold  to  be  true  is  of  greater 
importance  than  even  the  truth  itself. 
Does  not  love  bring  more  goodness  to  us 
than  thought  can  ever  convey  ?  Loyally 
to  love  a  great  error  may  well  be  more 
helpful  than  meanly  to  serve  a  great 
truth ;  for  in  doubt,  no  less  than  in  faith, 
are  passion  and  love  to  be  found.  Some 
doubts  are  as  generous  and  passionate  as 
the  very  noblest  convictions.  Be  a  thought 
of  the  loftiest,  surest,  or  of  the  most  pro- 
foundly uncertain,  the  best  that  it  has  to 
offer  is  still  the  chance  that  it  gives  us  of 
loving  some  one  thing  wholly,  without 
reserve.  Whether  it  be  to  man,  or  a  God  ; 
to  country,  to  world  or  to  error,  that  I 
truly  do  yield  myself  up,  the  precious  ore 

that  shall  some  day  be  found  buried  deep 
280 


I 


V, ...  . 

Wisdom  and  Destiny 

in  the  ashes  of  love  will  have  sprung  from 
the  love  itself,  and  not  from  the  thing  that 
I  loved.  The  sincerity  of  an  attachment, 
its  simplicity,  firmness,  and  zeal— these 
leave  a  track  behind  them  that  time 
can  never  efface.  All  passes  away  and 
changes ;  it  may  be  that  all  is  lost,  save 
only  the  glow  of  this  ardour,  fertility,  and 
strength  of  our  heart. 

§96. 

"  Never  did  man  possess  his  soul  in 
such  peace  as  he,"  says  Saint-Simon  of  one 
of  them,  who  was  surrounded  on  all  sides 
by  malice,  and  scheming,  and  snares.  And 
further  on  he  speaks  of  the  "  wise  tran- 
quillity"  of  another,  and  this  "  wise  tran- 
quillity "  pervades  every  one  of  those  whom 
he  terms  the  "  little  flock."  The  "  little 
flock,"  truly,  of  fidelity  to    all   that  was 

noblest  in  thought ;  the  "  little  flock  "  of 
281 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

friendship,  loyalty,  self-respect,  and  inner 
contentment,  that  pass  along,  radiant 
with  peace  and  simplicity,  in  the  midst 
of  the  lies  and  ambitions,  the  follies  and 
treacheries,  of  Versailles.  They  are  not 
saints,  in  the  vulgar  sense  of  the  word. 
They  have  not  fled  to  the  depths  of  forest 
or  desert,  or  sought  egotistic  shelter  in 
narrow  cells.  They  are  sages,  who  re- 
main within  life  and  the  things  that  are 
real.  It  is  not  their  piety  that  saves  them  ; 
it  is  not  in  God  alone  that  their  soul  has 
found  strength.  To  love  God,  and  to 
serve  Him  with  all  one's  might,  will  not 
suffice  to  bring  peace  and  strength  to  the 
soul  of  man.  It  is  only  by  means  of  the 
knowledge  and  thought  we  have  gained 
and  developed  by  contact  with  men  that 
we  can  learn  how  God  should  be  loved ; 
for,  notwithstanding  all  things,  the  human 
soul  remains  profoundly  human  still.     It 

may  be  taught  to  cherish  the  invisible,  but 
282 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

it  will  ever  find  far  more  actual  nourish- 
ment in  the  virtue  or  feeling  that  is  simply 
and  wholly  human,  than  in  the  virtue  or 
passion  divine.     If  there  come  towards  us*^ 
a  man  whose  soul   is  truly  tranquil  and 
calm,    we    may   be    certain   that   human 
virtues  have  given  him  his  tranquillity  and 
his  calmness.     Were  we  permitted  to  peer 
into  the  secret  recesses  of  hearts  that  are 
now  no  more,  we  might  discover,  perhaps,  , 
that  the  fountain  of  peace  whereat  Fenelon  j 
slaked  his  thirst  every  night  of  his  exile  ^ 
lay  rather  in  his  loyalty  to  Madame  Guyon  \ 
in   her   misfortune,   in    his    love  for   the 
slandered,    persecuted    Dauphin,    than    in 
his  expectation  of  eternal  reward;  rather 
in  the    irreproachable    human    conscience 
within  him,  overflowing  with  fidelity  and 
tenderness,  than  in  the  hopes  he  cherished 
as  a  Christian. 


283 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 


S97. 

Admirable  indeed  is  the  serenity  of  this 
"little  flock!"  No  virtue,  here,  to 
kindle  dazzling  fires  on  the  mountain, 
but  heart  and  soul  that  are  alive  with 
flame.  No  heroism  but  that  of  love,  of 
confidence  and  sincerity,  that  remember 
and  are  content  to  wait.  Some  men 
there  are  whose  virtue  issues  from  them 
with  a  noise  of  clanging  gates ;  in  others 
it  dwells  as  silent  as  the  maid  who  never 
stirs  from  home,  who  sits  thoughtfully 
by  the  fireside,  always  ready  to  welcome 
those  who  enter  from  the  cold  without. 
There  is  less  need  of  heroic  hours,  per- 
haps, in  a  beautiful  life,  than  of  weeks 
that  are  grave,  and  uniform,  and  pure. 
It  may  be  that  the  soul  that  is  loyal 
and  perfectly  just  is  more  precious  than 

the  one  that  is  tender  or  full  of  devotion. 

284 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

It  will  enter  less  wholly  perhaps,  and 
with  less  exaltation,  into  the  more  exu- 
berant adventures  of  life ;  but  in  the 
events  that  occur  every  day  we  can  trust 
it  more  fully,  rely  more  completely  upon 
it ;  and  is  there  a  man,  after  all,  no 
matter  how  strange  and  delirious  and 
brilliant  his  life  may  have  been,  who  has 
not  spent  the  great  bulk  of  his  time  in 
the  midst  of  most  ordinary  incident  ? 
In  our  very  sublimest  hour,  as  we  stand 
in  the  midst  of  the  dazzling  circles  it 
throws,  are  we  not  startled  to  find  that 
the  habits  and  thoughts  of  our  soberest 
hour  are  whirling  around  with  the  rest  ? 
We  must  always  come  back  to  our  normal 
life,  that  is  built  on  the  solid  earth 
and  primitive  rock.  We  are  not  called 
upon  to  contest  each  day  with  dishonour, 
despair,  or  death ;  but  it  is  imperative, 
perhaps,    that    I    should   be   able   to    tell 

myself,   at    every  hour    of   sadness,   that 

285 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

there  exists,  somewhere,  an  unchangeable, 
unconquerable  soul  that  has  drawn  near 
to  my  soul — a  soul  that  is  faithful  and 
silent,  blind  to  all  that  it  deems  not 
conformable  with  the  truth.  We  can 
only  have  praise  for  heroism,  and  for 
surpassingly  generous  deeds ;  but  more 
praise  still — as  it  demands  a  more  vigi- 
lant strength — for  the  man  who  never 
allows  an  inferior  thought  to  seduce  him  ; 
who  leads  a  less  glorious  life,  perhaps, 
but  one  of  more  uniform  worth.  Let  us 
sometimes,  in  our  meditations,  bring  our 
desire  for  moral  perfection  to  the  level 
of  daily  truth,  and  be  taught  how  far 
easier  it  is  to  confer  occasional  benefit 
than  never  to  do  any  harm ;  to  bring 
occasional  happiness  than  never  be  cause 
of  tears. 


286 

• 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 


^9«' 

Their    refuge,    their    "  firm    rock,"    as 

Saint-Simon    calls   it,   lay   in    each   other, 

and,  above  all,  in  themselves  ;  and  all  that 

was   blameless  within   their   soul   became 

steadfastness    in   the   rock.     A   thousand 

substances  go  to  form  the  foundations  of 

this  "  firm  rock,"  but  all  that  we  hold  to 

be   blameless   within   us  will  sink   to   its 

centre    and    base.      It    is    true    that   our 

standard  of  conduct  may  often  be  sadly 

at   fault ;  and    the   vilest   of   men   has   a 

moment    each    night    when    he    proudly 

surveys    some    detestable    thought,    that 

seems   wholly  blameless   to   him.     But  I 

speak   of  a   virtue,  here,  that    is    higher 

than    everyday    virtue;    and    the    most 

ordinary    man    is    aware    what    a    virtue 

becomes,  when   it   is   ordinary  virtue   no 

longer.      Moral    beauty,   indeed,   though 
287 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

it  be  of  the  rarest  kind,  never  passes 
the  comprehension  of  the  most  narrow- 
minded  of  men ;  and  no  act  is  so  readily 
understood  as  the  act  that  is  truly  sub- 
lime. We  may  admire  a  deed  profoundly, 
perhaps,  and  yet  not  rise  to  its  height ; 
but  it  is  imperative  that  we  should  not 
abide  in  the  darkness  that  covers  the 
thing  we  blame.  Many  a  happiness  in 
life,  as  many  a  disaster,  is  due  to  chance 
alone ;  but  the  peace  within  us  can  never 
be  governed  by  chance.  Some  souls,  I 
know,  for  ever  are  building ;  others  have 
preference  for  ruins;  and  others,  still, 
will  wander,  their  whole  life  through, 
seeking  shelter  beneath  strange  roofs. 
And  difficult  as  it  may  be  to  transform 
the  instincts  that  dwell  in  the  soul,  it  is 
well  that  those  who  build  not  should  be 
made  aware  of  the  joy  that  the  others  ex- 
perience as  they  incessantly  pile  stone  upon 

stone.     Their  thoughts,  and  attachments, 
288 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

and  love ;  their  convictions,  deceptions, 
and  even  their  doubts  —  all  stand  in 
good  service  ;  and  when  the  passing  storm 
has  demolished  their  mansion,  they  build 
once  again  with  the  ruins,  a  little  distance 
away,  something  less  stately  perhaps,  but 
better  adapted  to  all  the  requirements  of 
life.  What  regret,  disillusion,  or  sadness 
can  shatter  the  homestead  of  him  who, 
in  choosing  the  stones  for  his  dwelling, 
was  careful  to  keep  all  the  wisdom  and 
strength  that  regret,  disillusion,  and  sad- 
ness contain  ?  Or  might  we  not  say 
that  it  is  with  the  roots  of  the  happiness 
we  cherish  within  as  with  roots  of  great 
trees?  The  oaks  that  are  subject  the 
most  to  the  stress  of  the  storm  thrust  their 
roots  the  most  staunchly  and  firmly,  deep 
down  in  eternal  soil ;  and  the  fate  that  un- 
justly pursues  us  is  no  more  aware  of  what 
comes  to  pass  in  our  soul,  than  the  wind  is 

aware  of  what  happens  below  in  the  earth. 
289  T 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 


§99- 

Here  let  us  note  how  great  is  the  power, 
how  mysterious  the  attraction,  of  veritable 
happiness.  Something  of  a  hush  comes 
over  Saint-Simon's  stirring  narrative  as  one 
of  the  members  of  the  *Mittle  flock" 
passes  through  the  careless,  triumphant 
crowd,  unceasingly  busy  with  intrigue 
and  salutation,  petty  love  and  petty 
triumph,  amidst  the  marble  staircases 
and  magnificent  halls  of  Versailles.  Saint- 
Simon  goes  calmly  on  with  his  story ;  but 
for  one  second  we  seem  to  have  compared 
all  this  jubilant  vanity  and  ephemeral  re- 
joicing, this  brazen-tongued  falsehood  that 
secretly  trembles,  with  the  serene,  unvary- 
ing loftiness  of  those  strenuous,  tranquil 
souls.  It  is  as  though  there  should  suddenly 
appear  in  the  midst  of  a  band  of  children 

— who   are  plucking   flowers,  it  may  be, 

290 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

stealing  fruit,  or  playing  forbidden  games 
— a  priest  or  an  aged  man,  who  should  go 
on  his  way,  letting  fall  not  one  word 
of  rebuke.  The  games  are  suddenly 
stopped ;  startled  conscience  awakens ; 
and  unbidden  thoughts  of  duty,  reality, 
truth,  rush  in  on  the  mind  ;  but  with 
men  no  more  than  with  children  are 
impressions  of  long  duration,  though 
they  spring  from  the  priest,  or  the  sage, 
or  only  the  thought  that  has  passed  and 
gone  on  its  way.  But  it  matters  not, 
they  have  seen ;  and  the  human  soul, 
for  all  that  the  eyes  are  only  too  will- 
ing to  close  or  turn  away,  is  nobler 
than  most  men  would  wish  it  to  be,  for 
it  often  troubles  their  peace ;  and  the  soul 
is  quick  to  declare  its  preference  for  that 
it  has  seen,  and  fain  would  abandon  its 
enforced  and  wearisome  idleness.  And 
although  we  may  smile  and  make  merry 

as  the  sage  disappears  in  the  distance,  he 
291 


Wisdom  and  Destiny- 
has,  though  he  know  it  not,  left  a  clear 
track  in  the  midst  of  our  error  and  folly, 
where,  haply,  it  still  will  abide  for  a  long 
time  to  come.  And  when  the  sudden 
hour  of  tears  bursts  upon  us,  then  most 
of  all  shall  we  see  it  enwrapped  in  light. 
We  find  again  and  again,  in  Saint-Simon's 
story,  that  sorrow  no  sooner  invades  a 
soul  somewhat  loftier  than  others,  some- 
what nearer  to  life  perhaps,  than  it  speedily 
flies  for  comfort  to  one  it  has  thus  seen 
pass  by  in  the  midst  of  the  uneasy  silence 
and  almost  malevolent  wonder,  that  in 
this  world  too  often  attend  the  footsteps 
of  a  blameless  life.  It  is  not  our  wont 
to  question  happiness  closely  in  the  days 
when  we  deem  ourselves  happy ;  but  when 
sorrow  draws  nigh,  our  memory  flies  to 
the  peace  that  somewhere  lies  hidden  :  the 
peace  that  depends  not  on  the  rays  of  the 
sun,  or  the  kiss  that  has  been  withheld,  or 

the  disapproval  of  kings.  At  such  moments 
292 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

we  go  not  to  those  who  are  happy,  as  we 
once  were  happy ;  for  we  know  that  this 
happiness  melts  away  before  the  first  fret- 
ful gesture  of  fate.  Would  you  learn 
where  true  happiness  dwells,  you  have 
only  to  watch  the  movements  of  those 
who  are  wretched,  and  seek  consolation. 
Sorrow  is  like  the  divining-rod  that  used 
to  avail  the  seekers  of  treasure  or  of  clear 
running  water;  for  he  who  may  have  it 
about  him  unerringly  makes  for  the  house 
where  profoundest  peace  has  its  home. 
And  this  is  so  true  that  we  should  be 
wise,  perhaps,  not  to  dwell  with  too  much 
satisfaction  on  our  own  peace  of  mind 
and  tranquillity,  on  the  sincerity  of  our 
own  acquiescence  in  the  great  laws  of 
life,  or  rely  too  complacently  on  the 
duration  of  our  own  happiness,  until 
such  time  as  the  instinct  of  those  who 
suffer  impels  them  to  knock  at  our  door, 
and  their  eyes  can  behold,  shining  bright 


293 


-Wisdom  and  Destiny 

on  the  threshold,  the  steady,  unwavering 
flame  of  the  lamp  that  burns  on  for  ever. 
Yes ;  only  they,  it  may  be,  have  the  right 
to  deem  themselves  safe  to  whose  arms 
there  come  to  weep  those  whose  eyes  are 
heavy  with  tears.  And  indeed  there  are 
not  a  few  in  this  world  whose  inner  smile 
we  can  only  behold  when  our  eyes  have 
been  cleansed  by  the  tears  that  lay  bare 
the  mysterious  sources  of  vision ;  and 
then  only  do  we  begin  to  detect  the 
presence  of  happiness  that  springs  not 
from  the  favour  or  gleam  of  an  hour, 
but  from  widest  acceptance  of  life.  Here, 
as  in  much  beside,  desire  and  necessity 
quicken  our  senses.  The  hungry  bee  will 
discover  the  honey,  be  it  hid  never  so  deep 
in  the  cavern ;  and  the  soul  that  mourns 
will  spy  out  the  joy  that  lies  hidden  in  its 
retreat,  or  in  most  impenetrable  silence. 


294 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 


§  lOO. 

Destiny  begins  when  consciousness 
wakes  and  bestirs  itself  within  man ;  not 
the  passive,  impoverished  consciousness 
of  most  souls,  but  the  active  conscious- 
ness that  will  accept  the  event,  whatever 
it  may  be,  as  an  imprisoned  queen  will 
accept  a  gift  that  is  offered  to  her  in 
her  cell.  If  nothing  should  happen, 
your  consciousness  yet  may  create  im- 
portant event  from  the  manner  in  which 
it  regards  the  mere  dearth  of  event ;  but 
perhaps  to  each  man  there  occurs  vastly 
more  than  is  needed  to  satisfy  the 
thirstiest,  most  indefatigable  conscious- 
ness. I  have  at  this  moment  before  me 
the  history  of  a  mighty  and  passionate 
soul,  whom  every  adventure  that  makes 
for  the  sorrow  or  gladness  of  man  would 
seem  to  have  passed  by  with  averted 
295 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

head.  It  is  of  Emily  Bronte  I  speak, 
than  whom  the  first  fifty  years  of  this 
century  produced  no  woman  of  greater 
or  more  incontestable  genius.  She  has 
left  but  one  book  behind  her,  a  novel, 
called  "  Wuthering  Heights,'*  a  curious 
title,  which  seems  to  suggest  a  storm  on 
a  mountain  peak.  She  was  the  daughter 
of  an  English  clergyman,  the  Rev. 
Patrick  Bronte,  who  was  the  most  in- 
significant, selfish,  lethargic,  pretentious 
creature  the  mind  can  conceive.  There 
were  only  two  things  in  life  that  seemed 
of  importance  to  him — the  purity  of  his 
Greek  profile,  and  solicitude  for  his 
digestion.  As  for  Emily's  unfortunate 
mother,  her  whole  life  would  seem  to 
have  been  spent  in  admiring  this  Greek 
profile  and  in  studying  this  digestion. 
But  there  is  scarcely  need  to  dwell  upon 
her  existence,  for  she  died  only  two  years 

after  Emily's  birth.     It  is  of  interest  to 
296 


Wisdom  and  Destiny- 
note,  however — if  only  to  prove  once 
again  that,  in  ordinary  life,  the  woman 
is  usually  superior  to  the  man  she  has 
had  to  accept — that  long  after  the  death 
of  the  patient  wife  a  bundle  of  letters 
was  found,  wherein  it  was  clearly  revealed 
that  she  who  had  always  been  silent 
was  fully  alive  to  the  indifference  and 
fatuous  self-love  of  her  vain  and  indolent 
husband.  We  may,  it  is  true,  be  con- 
scious of  faults  in  others  from  which 
we  are  ourselves  not  exempt ;  although 
to  discover  a  virtue,  perhaps,  we  must 
needs  have  a  germ  of  it  in  us.  Such 
were  Emily's  parents.  Around  her,  four 
sisters  and  one  brother  gravely  watched 
the  monotonous  flight  of  the  hours.  The 
family  dwelling,  where  Emily's  whole  life 
was  spent,  was  in  the  heart  of  the  York- 
shire Moors,  at  a  place  called  Haworth,  a 
gloomy,  desolate  village  ;  barren,  forsaken, 
and  lonely. 


297 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

There  can  never  have  been  a  childhood 

and  youth  so  friendless,  monotonous,  and 

dreary  as  that  of  Emily  and  her  sisters. 

There  came  to  them  none  of  those  happy 

little    adventures,    bright    gleams    from 

the    unexpected,   which    we    broider    and 

magnify  as  the  years  go  by,  and  store  at 

last  in  our  soul  as  the  one  inexhaustible 

treasure  acquired  by  the  smiling  memory 

of  life.     Each   day  was   the   same,  from 

first    to   last — lessons,    meals,   household 

duties,    work    beside    an    old    aunt,    and 

long  solitary  walks  that  these  grave  little 

girls  would  take  hand  in  hand,  speaking 

but  seldom,  across  the  heather  now  gay 

with    blossom,    now    white    beneath    the 

snow.     At  home  the  father  they  scarcely 

saw,    who    was    wholly    indifferent,    who 

took  his  meals  in  his  room,  and  would 

come    down    at    night    to    the    rectory 

parlour    and   read   aloud   the   appallingly 

dreary  debates  of  the  House  of  Commons ; 
298 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

without,  the  silence  of  the  adjoining 
graveyard,  the  great  treeless  desert,  and 
the  moors  that  from  autumn  to  summer 
were  swept  by  the  pitiless  wind  from 
the  north. 

The  hazard  of  life — for  in  every  life 
some  effort  is  put  forth  by  fate — the 
hazard  of  life  removed  Emily  three  or 
four  times  from  the  desert  she  had 
grown  to  love,  and  to  consider — as  will 
happen  to  those  who  remain  too  long 
in  one  spot — the  only  place  in  the  world 
where  the  plants,  and  the  earth,  and  the 
sky  were  truly  real  and  delightful.  But 
after  a  few  weeks'  absence  the  light 
would  fade  from  her  ardent,  beautiful 
eyes ;  she  pined  for  home ;  and  one  or 
another  of  the  sisters  must  hasten  to 
bring  her  back  to  the  lonely  vicarage. 

In    1843 — she  was  then  twenty-five — 

she  returned  once    again,  never  more  to 

go     forth    until     summoned     by    death. 
299 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

Not  an  event,  or  a  smile,  or  a  whisper 
of  love  in  the  whole  of  her  life  to 
the  day  of  this  final  return.  Nor  was 
her  memory  charged  with  one  of  those 
griefs  or  deceptions,  which  enable  the 
weaklings,  or  those  who  demand  too 
little  of  life,  to  imagine  that  passive 
fidelity  to  something  that  has  of  itself 
collapsed  is  an  act  of  virtue ;  that  in- 
activity is  justified  by  the  tears  wherein 
it  is  bathed ;  and  that  the  duty  of  life 
is  accomplished  when  suffering  has  been 
made  to  yield  up  all  its  resignation  and 
sorrow. 

Here,  in  this  virgin  soul,  whose  past 
was  a  blank,  there  was  nothing  for 
memory  or  resignation  to  cling  to ; 
nothing  before  that  last  journey,  as 
nothing  after ;  unless  it  be  mournful 
vigils  by  the  side  of  the  brother  she 
nursed — the    almost     demented    brother, 

whose   life   was    wrecked  by  his  idleness 
300 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

and  a  great  unfortunate  passion ;  who 
became  an  incurable  opium-eater  and 
drunkard.  Then,  shortly  before  her 
twenty-ninth  birthday,  on  a  December 
afternoon,  as  she  sat  in  the  little  white- 
washed parlour  combing  her  long  black 
hair,  the  comb  slipped  from  the  fingers 
that  were  too  weak  to  retain  it,  and  fell 
into  the  fire;  and  death  came  to  her, 
more  silent  even  than  life,  and  bore  her 
away  from  the  pale  embraces  of  the  two 
sisters  whom  fortune  had  left  her. 

§  loi- 

*'No  touch  of  love,  no  hint  of  fame, 
no  hours  of  ease  lie  for  you  across  the 
knees  of  fate,"  exclaims  Miss  Mary  Robin- 
son, who  has  chronicled  this  existence,  in 
a  fine  outburst  of  sorrow.  And  truly, 
viewed  from  without,  what  life  could  be 

more  dreary  and   colourless,   more   futile 
301 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

and  icily  cold,  than  that  of  Emily  Bronte  ? 

But  where  shall  we  take  our  stand,  when 

we  pass  such  a  life  in  review,  so  as  best  to 

discover  its  truth,  to  judge  it,  approve  it, 

and  love  it  ?     How  different  it  all  appears 

as  we  leave   the  little  parsonage,  hidden 

away  on  the  moors,  and  let  our  eyes  rest 

on  the  soul  of  our  heroine !     It  is  rare 

indeed  that  we  thus  can  follow  the  life  of 

a  soul  in  a  body  that  knew  no  adventure ; 

but  it  is  less  rare  than  might  be  imagined 

that  a  soul  should  have  life  of  its  own, 

which  hardly  depends,  if  at  all,  on  incident 

of  week    or   of    year.      In    "Wuthering 

Heights  " — wherein  this  soul  gives  to  the 

world    its     passions,    desires,    reflections, 

realisations,  ideals,  which  is,  in    a   word, 

its  real  history — in  "  Wuthering  Heights  " 

there   is  more    adventure,   more    passion, 

more  energy,  more  ardour,  more  love,  than 

is   needed   to  give   life    or    fulfilment    to 

twenty  heroic  existences,  twenty  destinies 
302 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

of  gladness  or  sorrow.  Not  a  single  event 
ever  paused  as  it  passed  by  her  threshold ; 
yet  did  every  event  she  could  claim  take 
place  in  her  heart,  with  incomparable  force 
and  beauty,  with  matchless  precision  and 
detail.  We  say  that  nothing  ever  hap- 
pened ;  but  did  not  all  things  really  happen  C 
to  her  much  more  directly  and  tangibly 
than  unto  most  of  us,  seeing  that  every- 
thing that  took  place  about  her,  everything 
that  she  saw  or  heard,  was  transformed 
within  her  into  thoughts  and  feelings,  into 
indulgent  love,  admiration,  adoration  of 
life  ?  What  matter  whether  the  event  fall 
on  our  neighbour's  roof  or  our  own  ? 
The  rain-drops  the  cloud  brings  with  it 
are  for  him  who  will  hold  out  his  vessel ; 
and  the  gladness,  the  beauty,  the  peace,  or 
the  helpful  disquiet  that  is  found  in  the 
gesture  of  fate,  belongs  only  to  him  who 
has  learned  to  reflect.     Love  never  came 

to  her :   there  fell  never  once  on  her  ear 

303 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

the  lover's  magical  footfall ;  and,  for  all 
that,  this  virgin,  who  died  in  her  twenty- 
ninth  year,  has  known  love,  has  spoken  of 
love,  has  penetrated  its  most  impenetrable 
secrets  to  such  a  degree,  that  those  who 
have  loved  the  most  deeply  must  sometimes 
uneasily  wonder  what  name  they  should 
give  to  the  passion  they  feel,  when  she 
pours  forth  the  words,  exaltation  and  mys- 
tery of  a  love  beside  which  all  else  seems 
pallid  and  casual.  Where,  if  not  in  her 
heart,  has  she  heard  the  matchless  words 
of  the  girl,  who  speaks  to  her  nurse 
of  the  man  who  is  hated  and  harassed 
by  all,  but  whom  she  wholly  adores? 
"  My  great  miseries  in  this  world  have 
been  HeathclifFs  miseries,  and  I  watched 
and  felt  each  from  the  beginning ;  my 
great  thought  in  living  is  himself.  If 
all  else  perished,  and  he  remained,  / 
should   still   continue   to  be  ;    and   if  all 

else  remained,    and   he  were   annihilated, 
304 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

the   universe   would    turn    to    a    mighty 

stranger;    I   should  not  seem  a  part  of 

it.       My    love    for    Linton    is    like    the 

foliage   in   the   woods :  time  will   change 

it,  I'm  well  aware,  as  winter  changes  the 

trees.     My  love  for  HeathclifF  resembles 

the   eternal   rocks   beneath — a  source  of 

little  visible  delight,  but  necessary.    Nelly,  '^ 

I  am  Heathcliff !     He's  always,  always  in 

my  mind  :  not   as   a  pleasure,   any  more 

than   I   am  always  a  pleasure  to  myself, 

but  as  my  own  being.  ...  I  do  not  love 

him  because  he's  handsome,  but  because  ^ 

he's  more  myself  than  I  am.     Whatever 

our  souls  are  made  of,  his  and  mine  are 

the  same."  .  .  . 

She  has  but  little  acquaintance  with  the 

external  realities   of  love,  and  these  she 

handles  so  innocently  at  times  as  almost 

to  provoke   a  smile ;  but  where  can  she 

have    acquired    her    knowledge    of   those  < 

inner  realities,  that  are  interwoven  with 
305  u 


Wisdom  and  Destiny- 
all  that  is  profoundest  and  most  illogical 
in  passion,  with  all  that  is  most  unexpected, 
most  impossible,  and  most  eternally  true  ? 
We  feel  that  one  must  have  lived  for  thirty 
years  beneath  burning  chains  of  burning  .. 
kisses  to  learn  what  she  has  learned;  to 
dare  so  confidently  set  forth,  with  such 
minuteness,  such  unerring  certainty,  the 
delirium  of  those  two  predestined  lovers  of 
"  Wuthering  Heights  "  ;  to  mark  the  self- 
conflicting  movements  of  the  tenderness 
that  would  make  suffer  and  the  cruelty 
that  would  make  glad,  the  felicity  that 
prayed  for  death  and  the  despair  that 
clung  to  life ;  the  repulsion  that  desired, 
the  desire  drunk  with  repulsion — love 
surcharged  with  hatred,  hatred  staggering 
beneath  its  load  of  love.   .   .   . 

And  yet  it  is  known  to  us — for  in  this 
poor  life  of  hers  all  lies  open — that  she 
neither   loved    nor   was   loved.      May   it 

be  true    then  that  the   last  word   of  an 
306 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

existence  is  only  a  word  that  destiny  whis- 
pers low  to  what  lies  most  hidden  in  our 
heart  ?  Have  we  indeed  an  inner  life 
that  yields  not  in  reality  to  the  outer  life ; 
that  is  no  less  susceptible  of  experience 
and  impression  ?  Can  we  live,  it  matters 
not  where,  and  love,  and  hate,  listening 
for  no  footfall,  spurning  no  creature  ? 
Is  the  soul  self-sufficient ;  and  is  it  always 
the  soul  that  decides,  a  certain  height 
once  gained  ?  Is  it  only  to  those  whose 
conscience  still  slumbers  that  events  can 
seem  sad  or  sterile  ?  Did  not  love  and 
beauty,  happiness  and  adventure — did  not 
all  that  we  go  in  search  of  along  the 
ways  of  life  congregate  in  Emily  Bronte's 
heart  ?  Day  after  day  passed  by,  with 
never  a  joy  or  emotion  ;  never  a  smile  that 
the  eye  could  see  or  the  hand  could  touch  ; 
wherefore  none  the  less  did  her  destiny 
find  its  fulfilment,  for  the  confidence 
within  her,  the  eagerness,  hope,  animation, 
307 


Wisdom  and  Destiny- 
all  were  astir ;  and  her  heart  was  flooded 
with  light,  and  radiant  with  silent 
gladness.  Of  her  happiness  none  can 
doubt.  Not  in  the  soul  of  the  best 
of  all  those  whose  happiness  has  lasted 
the  longest,  been  the  most  active,  diver- 
sified, perfect,  could  more  imperishable 
harvest  be  found  than  in  the  soul  Emily 
Bronte  lays  bare.  If  to  her  there  came 
nothing  of  all  that  passes  in  joy  and  in 
love,  in  sorrow,  passion,  and  anguish, 
still  did  she  possess  all  that  abides  when 
emotion  has  faded  away.  Which  of  the 
two  will  know  more  of  the  marvellous 
palace — the  blind  man  who  lives  there, 
or  the  other,  with  wide-open  eyes,  who 
perhaps  only  enters  it  once  ?  "  To  live, 
not  to  live  " — we  must  not  let  mere  words 
mislead  us.  It  is  surely  possible  to  live 
without  thought,  but  not  to  think,  with- 
out  active  life.     The  essence  of  the  joy 

or  sorrow  the  event  contains  lies  in  the 
308 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

idea  the  event  gives  birth  to :  our  own 
idea,  if  we  are  strong ;  that  of  others, 
if  we  are  weak.  On  your  way  to  the 
grave  there  may  come  a  thousand  external 
events  towards  you,  whereof  not  one,  it 
may  be,  shall  find  within  you  the  force 
that  it  needs  to  turn  to  .  moral  event. 
Then  may  you  truthfully  say,  and  then 
only,  "  I  have  perhaps  not  lived."  The 
intimate  happiness  of  our  heroine,  as  of 
every  human  being,  was  in  exact  pro- 
portion to  her  morality  and  her  sense 
of  the  universe ;  and  these  indeed  are 
the  clearings  in  the  forest  of  accidents 
whose  area  it  is  well  we  should  know 
when  we  seek  to  measure  the  happiness 
a  life  has  experienced.  Who  that  had 
gained  the  altitude  of  peace  and  compre- 
hension whereon  her  soul  reposed  would 
still  be  wrought  to  feeble,  bitter,  unre- 
freshing  tears  by  the  cares  and  troubles 

and  deceptions   of   ordinary  life  ?     Who 
309 


Wisdom  and  Destiny- 
would  not  then  understand  why  it  was 
that  she  shed  no  tears,  unlike  so  many 
of  her  sisters,  who  spend  their  lives  in 
plaintive  wanderings  from  one  broken 
joy  to  another?  The  joy  that  is  dead 
weighs  heavy,  and  bids  fair  to  crush  us, 
if  we  cause  it  to  be  with  us  for  ever ; 
which  is  as  though  a  wood-cutter  should 
refuse  to  lay  down  his  load  of  dead  wood. 
For  dead  wood  was  not  made  to  be  eter- 
nally borne  on  the  shoulder,  but  indeed 
to  be  burned,  and  give  forth  brilliant 
flame.  And  as  we  behold  the  flames  that 
soar  aloft  in  Emily's  soul,  then  are  we 
as  heedless  as  she  was  of  the  sorrows  of 
the  dead  wood.  No  misfortune  but  has 
its  horizon,  no  sadness  but  shall  know 
comfort,  for  the  man  who  in  the  midst 
of  his  sufi^ering,  in  the  midst  of  the  grief 
that  must  come  to  him  as  to  all,  has 
learned  to   espy   Nature's   ample  gesture 

beneath  all  sorrow  and  suffering,  and  has 
310 


\  B  '^  A  fry 

TJNIVF.RSITY 

Wisdom  and  DS 

become  aware  that  this  gesture  alone  is 
real.  "  The  sage,  who  is  lord  of  his  life, 
can  never  truly  be  said  to  suffer,"  wrote 
an  admirable  woman,  who  had  known 
much  sorrow  herself.  "It  is  from  the 
heights  above  that  he  looks  down  on  his 
life,  and  if  to-day  he  should  seem  to 
suffer,  it  is  only  because  he  has  allowed 
his  thoughts  to  incline  towards  the  less 
perfect  part  of  his  soul."  Emily  Bronte 
not  only  breathes  life  into  tenderness, 
loyalty,  and  love,  but  into  hatred  and 
wickedness  also ;  nay,  into  the  very 
fiercest  revengefulness,  the  most  deli- 
berate perfidy ;  nor  does  she  deem  it  in- 
cumbent upon  her  to  pardon,  for  pardon 
implies  only  incomplete  comprehension. 
She  sees,  she  admits,  and  she  loves.  She 
admits  the  evil  as  well  as  the  good,  she 
gives  life  to  both ;  well  knowing  that 
evil,  when  all  is  said,  is  only  righteousness/ 
strayed  from  the  path.  She  reveals  to  us 
3" 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

— not  with  the  moralist's  arbitrary  for- 
mula, but  as  men  and  years  reveal  the 
truths  we  have  wit  to  grasp — the  final 
helplessness  of  evil,  brought  face  to  face 
with  life ;  the  final  appeasement  of  all 
things  in  nature  as  well  as  in  death, 
"  which  is  only  the  triumph  of  life  over 
one  of  its  specialised  forms."  She  shows 
how  the  dexterous  lie,  begotten  of  genius 
and  strength,  is  forced  to  bow  down  be- 
fore the  most  ignorant,  puniest  truth ; 
she  shows  the  self-deception  of  hatred 
that  sows,  all  unwilling,  the  seeds  of 
gladness  and  love  in  the  life  that  it 
anxiously  schemes  to  destroy.  She  is, 
perhaps,  the  first  to  base  a  plea  for  in- 
dulgence on  the  great  law  of  heredity; 
and  when,  at  the  end  of  her  book,  she 
goes  to  the  village  churchyard  and  visits 
the  eternal  resting-place  of  her  heroes, 
the  grass  grows  green  alike  over    grave 

of  tyrant  and  martyr;    and  she  wonders 
312 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

how  "  any  one  could  ever  imagine  unquiet 
slumbers  for  the  sleepers  in  that  quiet 
earth." 

§  I02. 

I  am  well  aware  that  here  we  are  deal- 
ing with  a  woman  of  genius ;  but  genius 
only  throws  into  bolder  relief  all  that 
can,  and  actually  does,  take  place  in  the 
lives  of  all  men ;  otherwise  were  it  genius 
no  longer,  but  incoherence  or  madness. 
It  becomes  clear  to  us,  after  a  time,  that 
genius  is  by  no  means  confined  to  the 
extraordinary;  and  that  veritable  superi- 
ority is  composed  of  elements  that  every 
day  offers  to  every  man.  But  we  are  not 
considering  literature  now;  and  indeed, 
not  by  her  literary  gifts,  but  by  her  inner 
life,  was  Emily  Bronte  comforted ;  for  it 
by  no  means  follows  that  moral  activity 
waits  on  brilliant  literary  powers.     Had 

she  remained  silent,  nor  ever  grasped  a 
313 


K 


Wisdom  and  Destiny- 
pen,  still  had  there  been  no  diminution 
of  the  power  within  her,  of  the  smile  and 
the  fulness  of  love ;  still  had  she  worn 
the  air  of  one  who  knew  whither  her 
steps  were  tending ;  and  the  profound 
certainty  that  dwelt  within  her  still  had 
proclaimed  that  she  had  known  how  to 
make  her  peace,  far  up  on  the  heights, 
with  the  great  disquiet  and  misery  of  the 
world.  We  should  never  have  known  of 
her — that  is  all. 

There  is  much  to  be  learned  from 
this  humble  life,  and  yet  were  it 
perhaps  not  well  to  hold  it  forth  as 
an  example  to  such  as  already  incline 
overmuch  to  resignation,  for  these  it 
might  mislead.  It  is  a  life  that  would 
seem  to  have  been  wholly  passive — and 
to  be  passive  is  not  good  for  all.  She 
died  a  virgin  in  her  twenty-ninth  year : 
and  it  is  sad  to  die  a  virgin.     Is  it  not 

the    paramount    duty    of    every    human 
314 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

being  to  offer  to  his  destiny  all  that 
can  be  offered  to  the  destiny  of  man  ? 
And  indeed  we  had  far  better  leave  be- 
hind us  work  unfinished  than  life  itself 
incomplete.  It  is  good  to  be  indifferent  ^ 
to  vain  or  idle  pleasures ;  but  we  have  ^ 
no  right  almost  voluntarily  to  neglect 
the  most  important  chances  of  indis- 
pensable happiness.  The  soul  that  is 
unhappy  may  have  within  it  cause  for 
noble  regret.  To  look  largely  on  the  sad- 
ness of  one's  life  is  to  make  essay,  in  the 
darkness,  of  the  wings  that  shall  one  day 
enable  us  to  soar  high  above  this  sadness. 
Effort  was  lacking,  perhaps,  in  Emily 
Bronte's  life.  In  her  soul  there  was 
wealth  of  passion  and  freedom  and  daring, 
but  in  her  life  timidity,  silence,  inertness, 
conventions,  and  prejudice  ;  the  very  things 
that  in  thought  she  despised.  This  is  the 
history  often  of  the  too-meditative  soul. 
But  it  is  difficult  to  pass  judgment  on  an 


315 


Wisdom  and  Destiny- 
entire  existence  ;  and  here  there  were  much 
to  be  said  of  the  devotion  wherewith  she 
sacrificed  the  best  years  of  her  youth  to  an 
undeserving,  though  unfortunate,  brother. 
Our  remarks  then,  in  a  case  such  as  this, 
must  be  understood  generally  only ;  but 
still,  how  long  and  •how  narrow  is  the 
path  that  leads  from  the  soul  to  life ! 
Our  thoughts  of  love,  of  justice  and 
loyalty,  our  thoughts  of  bold  ambition 
— what  are  all  these  but  acorns  that  fall 
from  the  oak  in  the  forest  ?  and  must 
not  thousands  and  tens  of  thousands  be 
lost  and  rot  in  the  lichen  ere  a  single  tree 
spring  to  life  ?  "  She  had  a  beautiful 
soul,"  said,  speaking  of  another  woman, 
the  woman  whose  words  I  quoted  above, 
"a  wide  intellect,  and  tender  heart,  but 
ere  these  qualities  could  issue  forth  into 
life  they  had  perforce  to  traverse  a  strait- 
ened character.     Again  and  again  have  I 

wondered  at  this  want  of  self-knowledge, 
316 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

of  return  to  self.  The  man  who  would 
wish  us  to  see  the  deepest  recess  of  his  life 
will  begin  by  telling  us  all  that  he  thinks 
and  he  feels,  will  lead  us  to  his  point  of 
view ;  we  are  conscious,  perhaps,  of  much 
elevation  of  soul ;  then,  as  we  enter  with 
him  still  further  into  his  life,  he  tells  of 
his  conduct,  his  joys  and  his  sorrows ;  and 
in  these  we  detect  not  a  gleam  of  the  soul 
that  had  shone  through  his  thoughts  and 
desires.  When  the  trumpet  is  sounded 
for  action,  the  instincts  rush  in,  the  char- 
acter hastens  between ;  but  the  soul  stands 
aloof:  the  soul,  which  is  man's  very  highest, 
being  like  the  princess  who  elects  to  live 
on  in  arrogant  penury  rather  than  soil  her 
hands  with  ordinary  labour."  Yes,  alas, 
all  is  useless  till  such  time  as  we  have 
learned  to  harden  our  hands;  to  trans- 
form the  gold  and  silver  of  thought  into 
a  key  that  shall  open,  not  the  ivory  gate 

of   our   dreams,    but    the   very   door    of 
317 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

this  our  dwelling — into  a  cup  that  shall 
hold,  not  only  the  wondrous  water  of 
dreams,  but  the  living  water  that  falls, 
drop  by  drop,  on  our  roof — into  scales, 
not  content  vaguely  to  balance  schemes 
for  the  future,  but  that  record,  with  un- 
erring accuracy,  what  we  have  done 
to-day.  The  very  loftiest  ideal  has  taken 
no  root  within  us,  so  long  as  it  penetrate 
not  every  limb,  so  long  as  it  palpitate  not 
at  our  finger-tip.  Some  there  are  whose 
intellect  profits  by  this  return  to  self; 
with  others,  the  character  gains.  The 
first  have  clearest  vision  for  all  that  con- 
cerns not  themselves,  that  calls  them  not 
to  action ;  but  it  is  above  all  when  stern 
reality  confronts  them,  and  time  for  action 
has  come,  that  the  eyes  of  the  others  glow 
bright.  One  might  almost  believe  in 
there  being  an  intellectual  conscious- 
ness, languidly  resting  for  ever  upon  an 

immovable    throne,    whence     she    issues 
318 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

commands  to  the  will  through  faithless  or 
indolent  envoys,  and  a  moral  consciousness, 
incessantly  stirring,  afoot,  at  all  times 
ready  to  march.  It  may  be  that  this 
latter  consciousness  depends  on  the  former 
— indeed  who  shall  say  that  she  is  not  the 
former,  wearied  from  long  repose,  wherein 
she  has  learned  all  that  was  to  be  learned ; 
that  has  at  last  determined  to  rise,  to 
descend  the  steps  of  inactivity  and  sally 
forth  into  life  ?  And  all  will  be  well,  if 
only  she  have  not  tarried  so  long  that  her 
limbs  refuse  their  office.  Is  it  not  pre-' 
ferable  sometimes  to  act  in  opposition  to 
our  thoughts  than  never  dare  to  act  in 
accord  with  them  ?  Rarely  indeed  is  the 
active  error  irremediable ;  men  and  things 
are  quickly  on  the  spot,  eager  to  set  it 
right ;  but  they  are  helpless  before  the 
passive  error  that  has  shunned  contact 
with  the  real.     Let  all  this,  however,  by 

no  means  be  construed  into  meaning  that 
319 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

the  intellectual  consciousness  must  be 
starved,  or  its  growth  arrested,  for  fear 
lest  it  outpace  the  moral  consciousness. 
We  need  have  no  fear  ;  no  ideal  conceived 
by  man  can  be  too  admirable  for  life  to 
conform  with  it.  To  float  the  smallest 
act  of  justice  or  love  requires  a  very 
torrent  of  desire  for  good.  For  our  con- 
duct only  to  be  honest  we  must  have 
thoughts  within  us  ten  times  loftier  than 
our  conduct.  Even  to  keep  somewhat 
clear  of  evil  bespeaks  enormous  craving 
for  good.  Of  all  the  forces  in  the  world 
there  is  none  melts  so  quickly  away  as  the 
thought  that  has  to  descend  into  every- 
day life ;  wherefore  we  must  needs  be 
heroic  in  thought  for  our  deeds  to  pass 
muster,  or  at  the  least  be  harmless. 


320 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 


§  103. 

Let  us  once  again,  and  for  the  last 
time,  return  to  obscure  destinies.  They 
teach  us  that,  physical  misfortune  apart, 
there  is  remedy  for  all ;  and  that  to 
complain  of  destiny  is  only  to  expose 
our  own  feebleness  of  soul.  We  are 
told  in  the  history  of  Rome  how  a  cer- 
tain Julius  Sabinus,  a  senator  from  Gaul, 
headed  a  revolt  against  the  Emperor 
Vespasian,  and  was  duly  defeated.  He 
might  have  sought  refuge  among  the 
Germans,  but  only  by  leaving  his  young 
wife,  Eponina,  behind  him,  and  he  had 
not  the  heart  to  forsake  her.  At^ 
moments  of  disaster  and  sorrow  we 
learn  the  true  value  of  life ;  nor  did 
Julius  Sabinus  welcome  the  idea  of  death. 
He    possessed    a    villa,    beneath    which 

there  stretched  vast  subterranean  caverns, 
321  X 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

known  only  to  him  and  two  freedmen. 
This  villa  he  caused  to  be  burned,  and 
the  rumour  was  spread  that  he  had 
sought  death  by  poison,  and  that  his 
body  was  consumed  by  the  flames. 
Eponina  herself  was  deceived,  says  Plu- 
tarch, whose  story  I  follow,  with  the 
additions  made  thereto  by  the  Comte 
de  Champagny,  the  historian  of  Anto- 
ninus ;  and  when  Martialis  the  freedman 
told  her  of  her  husband's  self-slaughter, 
she  lay  for  three  days  and  three  nights 
on  the  ground,  refusing  all  nourishment. 
When  Sabinus  heard  of  her  grief,  he 
took  pity  and  caused  her  to  know  that 
he  lived.  She  none  the  less  mourned 
and  shed  floods  of  tears,  in  the  daytime, 
when  people  were  near,  but  when  night 
fell  she  sought  him  below  in  his  cavern. 
For  seven  long  months  did  she  thus 
confront   the   shades,   every  night,   to  be 

with   her  husband ;    she   even   attempted 
322 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

to  help  him  escape;  she  shaved  off  his 
hair  and  his  beard,  wrapped  his  head 
round  with  fillets,  disguised  him,  and 
then  had  him  sent,  in  a  bundle  of  clothes, 
to  her  own  native  city.  But  his  stay 
there  becoming  unsafe,  she  soon  brought 
him  back  to  his  cavern ;  and  herself 
divided  her  stay  between  town  and  the 
country,  spending  her  nights  with  him, 
and  from  time  to  time  going  to  town 
to  be  seen  by  her  friends.  She  became 
big  with  child,  and,  by  means  of  an 
unguent  wherewith  she  anointed  her  body, 
her  condition  remained  unsuspected  by 
even  the  women  at  the  baths,  which  at 
that  time  were  taken  in  common.  And 
when  her  confinement  drew  nigh  she 
went  down  to  her  cavern,  and  there, 
with  no  midwife,  alone,  she  gave  birth 
to  two  sons,  as  a  lioness  throws  off  her 
cubs.  She  nourished  her  twins  with  her 
milk,  she  nursed  them  through  childhood  ; 


323 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

and  for  nine  years  she  stood  by  her 
husband  in  the  gloom  and  the  dark- 
ness. But  Sabinus  at  last  was  discovered 
and  taken  to  Rome.  He  surely  would 
seem  to  have  merited  Vespasian's  pardon. 
Eponina  led  forth  the  two  sons  she  had 
reared  in  the  depths  of  the  earth,  and 
said  to  the  Emperor,  "These  have  I 
brought  into  the  world  and  fed  on  my 
milk,  that  we  might  one  day  be  more 
to  implore  thy  forgiveness."  Tears 
filled  the  eyes  of  all  who  were  there ; 
but  Cassar  stood  firm,  and  the  brave 
Gaul  at  last  was  reduced  to  demand 
permission  to  die  with  her  husband.  "  I 
have  known  more  happiness  with  him 
in  the  darkness,"  she  cried,  "than  thou 
ever  shalt  know,  O  Caesar,  in  the  full 
glare  of  the  sunshine,  or  in  all  the 
splendour  of  thy  mighty  empire." 

Who  that  has  a  heart  within  him  can 

doubt  the  truth   of  her  words,  or  think 
324 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

without  longing  of  the  darkness  that  so 

great  a  love  illumined  ?     Many  a  dreary, 

miserable  hour  must  have  crawled  by  as 

they  crouched  in  their  hiding-place ;  but  y- 

are  there  any,  even  among  those  who  care 

only  for  the  pettiest  pleasures  of  life,  who 

would   not   rather   love  with   such   depth 

and  fervour  in  what  was  almost  a  tomb, 

than  flaunt  a  frigid  affection  in  the  heat 

and  light  of  the  sun  ?     Eponina's  mag-  ^ 

nificent  cry  is  the  cry  of  all  those  whose 

hearts  have  been  touched  by  love ;  as  it 

is  also  the   cry  of  those  whose  soul  has 

discovered  an   interest,  duty,   or  even    a 

hope,  in   life.     The  flame   that    inspired 

Eponina    inspires    the  sage  also,   lost  in 

monotonous  hours  as  she  in  her  gloomy 

retreat.     Love  is  the  unconscious  sun  of  *' 

our  soul ;  and  it   is  when   its  beams   are 

most  ardent,  and  purest,  that  they  bear 

most  surprising  resemblance  to  those  that 

the  soul,  aglow  with  justice  and   truth, 
325 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

with  beauty  and  majesty,  has  kindled 
within  itself,  and  adds  to,  incessantly.  Is 
not  the  happiness  that  accident  brought 
to  the  heart  of  Eponina  within  reach  of 
every  heart,  so  the  will  to  possess  it  be 
there  ?  Is  not  all  that  was  sweetest  in 
this  love  of  hers — the  devotion  of  self, 
y  the  transformation  of  regret  into  happi- 
ness, of  pleasure  renounced  into  joy  that 
abides  in  the  heart  for  ever;  the  interest 
awakened  each  day  by  the  feeblest  glimmer 
of  light,  so  it  fall  on  a  thing  one  ad- 
mires ;  the  immersion  in  radiance,  in 
happiness  susceptible  of  infinite  expansion, 
for  one  has  only  to  worship  the  more— are 
not  all  these,  and  a  thousand  other  forces 
no  less  helpful,  no  less  consoling,  to  be 
found  in  the  intensest  life  of  our  soul,  of 
our  heart,  of  our  thoughts  ?  And  was 
Eponina's  love  other  than  a  sudden  light- 
ning flash  from  this  life  of  the  soul,  come 

to  her,  all  unconscious  and   unprepared  ? 
326 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

^  Love  does  not  always  reflect ;  often  in- 
deed does  it  need  no  reflection,  no  search 
into  self,  to  enjoy  what  is  best  in  thought ; 
but,  none  the  less,  all  that  is  best  in  love 
is  closely  akin  to  all  that  is  best  in 
thought.  Suff^ering  seemed  ever  radiant  ^ 
in  aspect  to  Eponina,  because  of  her  love  \ 
but  cannot  this  thing  that  love  brings 
about,  all  unknowing,  by  fortunate  acci- 
dent, be  also  achieved  by  thought,  medi- 
tation, by  the  habit  of  looking  beyond 
our  immediate  trouble,  and  being  more 
joyous  than  fate  would  seem  to  demand  ? 
To  Eponina  there  came  not  a  sorrow 
but  kindled  yet  one  more  torch  in  the 
gloom  of  her  cavern ;  and  does  not  the'''^ 
sadness  that  forces  the  soul  back  into 
itself,  to  the  retreat  it  has  made,  kindle 
deep  consolation  there  ?  And,  as  the 
noble  Eponina  has  taken  us  back  to  the 
days  of  persecution,  may  we  not  liken 
such  sorrow  to  the  pagan  executioner 
327 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

who,  suddenly  touched  by  grace,  or  per- 
haps admiration,  in  the  very  midst  of  the 
torture  that  he  was  inflicting,  flung  him- 
self down  headlong  at  the  feet  of  his 
victim,  speaking  words  of  tenderest  sym- 
pathy ;  who  demanded  to  share  her  suff^er- 
ing,  and  finally  besought,  in  a  kiss,  to  be 
told  the  way  to  her  heaven. 

§104. 

Go  where  we  will,  the  plentiful  river  of 

life    flows    on,    beneath    the    canopy    of 

heaven.     It   flows  between    prison    walls, 

where  the  sun  never  gleams  on  its  waters ; 

as  it  flows  by  the  palace  steps,  where  all 

is  gladness  and  glory.     Not  our  concern 

the  depth  of  this  river,  or  its  width,  or 

the  strength  of  its  current,  as  it  streams 

on  for  ever,   pertaining  to   all ;    but   of 

deepest  importance  to  us  is  the  size  and 

the  purity  of  the  cup  that  we  plunge  in 
328 


Wisdom  and.  Destiny 

its  waters.  For  whatever  of  life  we 
absorb  must  needs  take  the  form  of  this 
cup,  as  this,  too,  has  taken  the  form  of 
our  thoughts  and  our  feelings ;  being 
modelled,  indeed,  on  the  breast  of  our 
intimate  destiny  as  the  breast  of  a  goddess 
once  served  for  the  cup  of  the  sculptor  of 
old.  Every  man  has  the  cup  of  his  ^ 
fashioning,  and  most  often  the  cup  he 
has  learned  to  desire.  When  we  murmur 
at  fate,  let  our  grievance  be  only  that  she 
grafted  not  in  our  heart  the  wish  for,  or 
thought  of,  a  cup  more  ample  and  per- 
fect. .  For  indeed  in  the  wish  alone  does 
inequality  lie,  but  this  inequality  vanishes 
the  moment  it  has  been  perceived.  Does  ^ 
the  thought  that  our  wish  might  be 
nobler  not  at  once  bring  nobility  with  it ; 
does  not  the  breast  of  our  destiny  throb 
to  this  new  aspiration,  thereby  expanding 
the  docile  cup  of  the  ideal — the  cup  whose 

metal  is  pliable  still  to  the  cold  stern  hour 
329 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

of  death  ?  No  cause  for  complaint  has 
he  who  has  learned  that  his  feelings  are 
lacking  in  generous  ardour,  or  the  other 
who  nurses  within  him  a  hope  for  a  little 
more  happiness,  a  little  more  beauty,  a 
little  more  justice.  For  here  all  things 
come  to  pass  in  the  way  that  they  tell  us 
it  happens  with  the  felicity  of  the  elect, 
of  whom  each  one  is  robed  in  gladness, 
and  wears  the  garment  befitting  his  stature. 
Nor  can  he  desire  a  happiness  more  per- 
fect than  the  happiness  which  he  possesses, 
without  the  desire  wherewith  he  desired 
at  once  bringing  fulfilment  with  it.  If  I 
envy  with  noble  envy  the  happiness  of 
those  who  are  able  to  plunge  a  heavier 
cup,  and  more  radiant  than  mine,  there 
where  the  great  river  is  brightest,  I  have, 
though  I  know  it  not,  my  excellent  share 
of  all  that  they  draw  from  the  river,  and 
my  lips  repose  by  the  side  of  their  lips  on 

the  rim  of  the  shining  cup. 
330 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

§  105. 

It   may  be  remembered   perhaps  that, 

before  these  digressions,  we  spoke   of  a 

woman  whose  friend  asked  her,  wonder- 

ingly,    "  Can    any   man    be    worthy    of 

your  love  ?  "     The  same  question  might 

have    been    asked    of   Emily   Bronte,    as 

indeed  of  many  others ;  and  in  this  world 

there   are  thousands  of  souls,  of  loftiest 

intention,    that    do    yet   forfeit    the    best 

years  of  love  in  constant  self-interrogation 

as  to  the  future  of  their  affections.     Nay, 

more — in  the  empire  of  destiny  it   is   to 

the  image  of  love  that  the  great  mass  of 

complaints    and    regrets    come    flocking; 

the  image   of  love  around  which  hover 

sluggish    desire,    extravagant    hope,    and 

fears  engendered  of  vanity.      At  root  of 

all   this    is    much    pride,  and    counterfeit 

poetry,  and  falsehood.     The  soul  that  is 
331 


^ 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

misunderstood  is  most  often  the  one  that 

has   made   the   least  effort  to  gain  some 

knowledge  of  self.     The  feeblest  ideal,  the 

one  that  is  narrowest,  straitest,  most  often 

will    thrive    on    deception    and    fear,    on 

exaction  and  petty  contempt.     We  dread 

above  all  lest  any  should  slight,  or  pass 

by  unnoticed,  the  virtues   and  thoughts, 

the   spiritual  beauty,   that    exist    only   in 

our  imagination.    It  is  with  merits  of  this 

nature  as  it  is  with  our  material  welfare 

— hope  clings   most   persistently  to   that 

which  we  probably  never  shall  have  the 

strength  to  acquire.     The  cheat  through 

whose  mind  some  momentary  thought  of 

amendment    has   passed,   is   amazed   that 

we  offer  not   instant,  surpassing  homage 

to  the  feeling  of  honour   that  has,   for 

brief   space,    found    shelter   within   him. 

But  if  we  are  truly  pure,  and  sincere,  and 

unselfish;   if  our  thoughts  soar  aloft  of 

themselves,  in  all  simpleness,  high  above 
332 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

vanity  or  instinctive  selfishness,  then  are 
we  far  less  concerned  that  those  who 
are  near  us  should  understand,  should 
approve,  or  admire.  Epictetus,  Marcus 
Aurelius,  Antoninus  Pius  are  not  known 
to  have  ever  complained  that  men  could 
not  understand  them.  They  hugged  no 
belief  to  themselves  that  something  ex- 
traordinary, incomprehensible,  lay  buried 
within  them ;  they  held,  on  the  contrary, 
that  whatever  was  best  in  their  virtue  was 
that  which  it  needed  no  effort  for  all 
men  to  grasp  and  admit.  But  there  are 
some  morbid  virtues  that  are  passed  by 
unnoticed,  and  not  without  reason — for 
there  will  almost  always  be  some  superior 
reason  for  the  powerlessness  of  a  feeling 
— morbid  virtues  to  which  we  often 
ascribe  far  too  great  an  importance ;  and 
that  virtue  will  surely  be  morbid  that 
we  rate  over  highly  and  hold  to  deserve 

the  respectful  attention  of  others.     In  a 
333 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

J  morbid  virtue  there  is  often  more  harm 
than  there  is  in  a  healthy  vice ;  in  any 
event  it  is  further  removed  from  truth ; 
and  there  is  but  little  to  hope  for  when  we 
are  divided  from  truth.  As  our  ideal  be- 
comes loftier  so  does  it  become  more  real ; 
and  the  nobler  our  soul,  the  less  does  it 
,  dread  that  it  meet  not  a  soul  of  its  stature; 
for  it  must  have  drawn  near  unto  truth, 
in  whose  neighbourhood  all  things  must 

-  take  of  its  greatness.  When  Dante  had 
gained  the  third  sphere,  and  stood  in  the 
midst  of  the  heavenly  lights,  all  shining  with 
uniform  splendour,  he  saw  that  around 
him  naught  moved,  and  wondered  was  he 
standing  motionless  there,  or  indeed  draw- 
ing nearer  unto  the  seat  of  God }  So  he 
cast  his  eyes  upon  Beatrice ;  and  she 
seemed  more  beautiful  to  him  ;  wherefore 
he  knew  that  he  was  approaching  his 
/     goal.     And  so  can  we  too  count  the  steps 

!    that  we  take  on   the   highway  of  truth, 
334 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

by  the  increase  of  love  that  comes  for  all 
that  goes  with  us  in  life ;  the  increase  of 
love  and  of  glad  curiosity,  of  respect  and 
of  deep  admiration. 

§io6. 

Men,  as  a  rule,  sally  forth  from  their 
homes  seeking  beauty  and  joy,  truth  and 
love ;  and  are  glad  to  be  able  to  say  to 
their  children,  on  their  return,  that  they 
have  met  nothing.  To  be  for  ever  com- 
plaining argues  much  pride ;  and  those 
who  accuse  love  and  life  are  the  ones  who 
imagine  that  these  should  bestow  some- 
thing more  than  they  can  acquire  for 
themselves.  Love,  it  is  true,  like  all  else,* 
claims  the  highest  possible  ideal ;  but  every 
ideal  that  conforms  not  with  some  strenu- 
ous inward  reality  is  nothing  but  falsehood 
— sterile  and  futile,  obsequious  falsehood. 
Two  or  three  ideals,  that  lie  out  of  our 
335 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

reach,  will  suffice  to  paralyse  life.  It  is 
wrong  to  believe  that  loftiness  of  soul  is 
governed  by  the  loftiness  of  desire  or 
dream.  The  dreams  of  the  weak  will  be 
often  more  numerous,  lovelier,  than  are 
those  of  the  strong ;  for  these  dreams 
absorb  all  their  energy,  all  their  activity. 
The  perpetual  craving  for  loftiness  does 
not  count  in  our  moral  advancement  if  it 
be  not  the  shadow  thrown  by  the  life  we 
have  lived,  by  the  firm  and  exper'>nced 
will  that  has  come  in  close  kinship  with 
man.  Then,  indeed,  as  one  places  a  rod 
at  the  foot  of  the  steeple  to  tell  of  its 
height  by  the  shadow,  so  may  we  lead  forth 
this  craving  of  ours  to  the  midst  of  the 
plain  that  is  lit  by  the  sun  of  external 
»  reality,  that  thus  we  may  tell  what  relation 
exists  between  the  shadow  thrown  by  the 
hour  and  the  dome  of  eternity. 


336 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 


§107. 

It  is  well  that  a  noble  heart  should 
await  a  great  love ;  better  still  that  this 
heart,  all  expectant,  should  cease  not 
from  loving;  and  that,  as  it  loves,  it 
should  scarcely  be  conscious  of  its  desire 
for  more  exquisite  love.  In  love  as  in 
life,  expectation  avails  us  but  little ; 
throu^k  loving  we  learn  to  love ;  and  it 
is  the  so-called  disillusions  of  pettier  love 
that  will,  the  most  simply  and  faithfully, 
feed  the  immovable  flame  of  the  mightier 
love  that  shall  come,  it  may  be,  to  illumine 
the  rest  of  our  life. 

We  treat  disillusions  often  with  scantiest 
justice.  We  conceive  them  of  sorrowful 
countenance,  pale  and  discouraged;  where- 
as they  are  really  the  very  first  smiles  of 
truth.  Why  should  disillusion  distress 
you,  if  you  are  a  man  of  honest  intention, 
337  Y 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

if  you  strive  to  be  just,  and  of  service  ;  if 
you  seek  to  be  happy  and  wise  ?  Would 
you  rather  live  on  in  the  world  of  your 
dreams  and  your  errors  than  in  the  world 
that  is  real  ?  Only  too  often  does  many  a 
promising  nature  waste  its  most  precious 
hours  in  the  struggle  of  beautiful  dream 
against  inevitable  law,  whose  beauty  is 
only  perceived  when  every  vestige  of 
strength  has  been  sapped  by  the  exquisite 
dream.  If  love  has  deceived  you,  do  you 
think  that  it  would  have  been  better  for 
you  all  your  life  to  regard  love  as  some- 
thing it  is  not,  and  never  can  be  ?  Would 
such  an  illusion  not  warp  your  most  sig- 
nificant actions ;  would  it  not  for  many 
days  hide  from  you  some  part  of  the  truth 
that  you  seek  ?  Or  if  you  imagined  that 
greatness  lay  in  your  grasp,  and  disillusion 
has  taken  you  back  to  your  place  in  the 
second  rank;  have  you  the  right,  for  the 

rest  of  your  life,  to  curse  the  envoy  of 
338 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

truth?  For,  after  all,  was  it  not  truth 
your  illusion  was  seeking,  assuming  it  to 
have  been  sincere  ?  We  should  try  to 
regard  disillusions  as  mysterious,  faithful 
friends,  as  counsellors  none  can  corrupt. 
And  should  there  be  one  more  cruel  than 
the  rest,  that  for  an  instant  prostrates 
you,  do  not  murmur  to  yourself  through 
your  tears  that  life  is  less  beautiful  than 
you  had  dreamed  it  to  be,  but  rather  that 
in  your  dream  there  must  have  been  some- 
thing lacking,  since  real  life  has  failed  to 
approve.  And  indeed  the  much-vaunted 
strength  of  the  strenuous  soul  is  built  up 
of  disillusions  only,  that  this  soul  has 
cheerfully  welcomed.  Every  deception, 
and  love  disappointed,  every  hope  that 
has  crumbled  to  dust,  is  possessed  of  a 
strength  of  its  own  that  it  adds  to  the 
strength  of  your  truth  ;  and  the  more  dis- 
illusions there  are  that  fall  to  the  earth  at 
your  feet,  the  more  surely  and  nobly  will 

339 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

great  reality  shine  on  you — even  as  the 
rays  of  the  sun  are  beheld  the  more 
clearly  in  winter,  as  they  pierce  through 
the  leafless  branches  of  the  trees  of  the 
forest. 

§  io8. 

And  if  it  be  a  great  love  that  you  seek, 
how  can  you  believe  that  a  soul  shall  be 
met  with  of  beauty  as  great  as  you  dream 
it  to  be,  if  you  seek  it  with  nothing  but 
dreams?  Have  you  the  right  to  expect 
that  definite  words  and  positive  actions 
shall  offer  themselves  in  exchange  for 
mere  formless  desire,  and  yearning,  and 
vision  ?  Yet  thus  it  is  most  of  us 
act.  And  if  some  fortunate  chance 
at  last  accords  our  desire,  and  places  us 
in  presence  of  the  being  who  is  all  we 
had  dreamed  her  to  be — are  we  entitled 
to    hope    that    our    idle    and    wandering 

349 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

cravings  shall  long  be  in  unison  with  her 
vigorous,  established  reality  ?  Our  ideal 
will  never  be  met  with  in  life  unless  we 
have  first  achieved  it  within  us  to  the 
fullest  extent  in  our  power.  Do  you 
hope  to  discover  and  win  for  yourself  a 
loyal,  profound,  inexhaustible  soul,  loving 
and  quick  with  life,  faithful  and  power- 
ful, unconstrained,  free :  generous,  brave, 
and  benevolent — if  you  know  less  well 
than  this  soul  what  all  these  qualities 
mean  ?  And  how  should  you  know,  if 
you  have  not  loved  them  and  lived  in 
their  midst,  as  this  soul  has  loved  and 
lived  ?  Most  exacting  of  all  things,  un- 
skilful, thick-sighted,  is  the  moral  beauty, 
perfection,  or  goodness  that  is  still  in 
the  shape  of  desire.  If  it  be  your  one 
hope  to  meet  with  an  ideal  soul,  would 
it  not  be  well  that  you  yourself  should 
endeavour    to    draw   nigh    to    your    own 

ideal  ?     Be  sure  that  by  no  other  means 
341 


Wisdom  and  Destiny- 
will  you  ever  obtain  your  desire.  And 
as  you  approach  this  ideal  it  will  dawn 
on  you  more  and  more  clearly  how  for- 
tunate and  wisely  ordained  it  has  been 
that  the  ideal  should  ever  be  different 
from  what  our  vague  hopes  were  ex- 
pecting. So  too  when  the  ideal  takes 
shape,  as  it  comes  into  contact  with  life, 
will  it  soften,  expand,  and  lose  its  rigidity, 
incessantly  growing  more  noble.  And 
then  will  you  readily  perceive,  in  the 
creature  you  love,  all  that  which  is 
eternally  true  in  yourself,  and  solidly 
righteous,  and  essentially  beautiful ;  for 
only  the  good  in  our  heart  can  advise  us 
of  the  goodness  that  hides  by  our  side. 
Then,  at  last,  will  the  imperfections  of 
others  no  longer  seem  of  importance  to 
you,  for  they  will  no  longer  be  able  to 
wound  your  vanity,  selfishness,  and  ignor- 
ance ;  imperfections,  that  is,  which   have 

ceased  to  resemble   your   own ;   for  it  is 

342 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

the  evil  that  lies  in  ourselves  that  is 
ever  least  tolerant  of  the  evil  that  dwells 
within  others. 

§  109. 

Let  us  have  the  same  confidence  in 
love  that  we  have  in  life ;  for  confidence 
is  of  our  essence ;  and  the  thought  that 
works  the  most  harm  in  all  things  is  the 
one  that  inclines  us  to  look  with  mistrust 
on  reality.  I  have  known  more  than  one 
life  that  love  broke  asunder  ;  but  if  it  had 
not  been  love,  these  lives  would  no  doubt 
have  been  broken  no  less  by  friendship  or 
apathy,  by  doubt,  hesitation,  indiflFerence, 
inaction.  For  that  only  which  in  itself 
is  fragile  can  be  rent  in  the  heart  by  love  ; 
and  where  all  is  broken  that  the  heart 
contains,  then  must  all  have  been  far  too 
frail.  There  exists  not  a  creature  but 
must  more  than  once  have  believed  that 

343 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

his  life  was  crushed ;  but  they  whose  life 
has  indeed  been  shattered,  and  has  fallen 
to  ruin,  owe  their  misfortune  often  to 
some  strange  vanity  of  the  very  ruin. 
Fortunate  and  unfortunate  hazards  there 
must  of  necessity  be  in  love  as  in  all 
the  rest  of  our  destiny.  It  may  so  come 
about  that  one  whose  spirit  and  heart  are 
abounding  with  tenderness,  energy,  and 
the  noblest  of  human  desires,  shall  meet, 
on  his  first  setting  forth,  all  unsought, 
the  soul  that  shall  satisfy  each  single 
craving  of  love  in  the  ecstasy  of  per- 
manent joy;  the  soul  that  shall  content 
the  loftiest  yearning  no  less  than  the 
lowliest :  the  vastest,  the  mightiest  no 
less  than  the  daintiest,  sweetest :  the  most 
eternal  no  less  than  the  most  evanescent. 
He,  it  may  be,  shall  instantly  find  the 
heart  whereto  he  can  give — the  heart 
which  will  ever  receive — all  that  is  best 

in  himself.     It  may  happen  that  he  shall 
344 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

at  once  have  attained  the  soul  that  per- 
chance is  unique ;  the  soul  that  is  satisfied 
always,  and  always  filled  with  desire ;  the 
soul  that  can  ever  receive  many  thousand 
times  more  than  is  given,  and  that  never 
fails  to  return  many  thousand  times  more 
than  it  receives.  For  the  love  that  the 
years  cannot  alter  is  built  up  of  exchanges 
like  these,  of  sweet  inequality ;  and  naught 
do  we  ever  truly  possess  but  that  which 
we  give  in  our  love  ;  and  whatever  our 
love  bestows,  we  are  no  longer  alone  to 
enjoy. 

§IIO. 

Destinies  sometimes  are  met  with  that 
thus  are  perfectly  happy ;  and  each  man, 
it  may  be,  is  entitled  to  hope  that  such 
may  one  day  be  his ;  yet  must  his  hope 
be  never  permitted  to  fasten  chains 
on  his  life.     All  he   can  do  is  to  make 

345 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

preparation  one  day  to  deserve  such  a 
love;  and  he  will  be  most  patient  and 
tranquil  who  incessantly  strives  to  this 
end.  It  might  so  have  happened  that 
he  whom  we  spoke  of  just  now  should, 
day  after  day,  from  youth  to  old  age, 
have  passed  by  the  side  of  the  wall 
behind  which  his  happiness  lay  waiting, 
enwrapped  in  too  secret  a  silence.  But 
if  happiness  lie  yonder  side  of  the  wall, 
must  despair  and  disaster  of  necessity 
dwell  on  the  other  ?  Is  not  something  of 
happiness  to  be  found  in  our  thus  being 
able  to  pass  by  the  side  of  our  happi- 
ness ?  Is  it  not  better  to  feel  that  a 
mere  slender  chance  —  transparent,  one 
almost  might  call  it — is  all  that  extends 
between  us  and  the  exquisite  love  that 
we  dream  of,  than  to  be  divided  for 
ever  therefrom  by  all  that  is  worthless 
within  us,  undeserving,  inhuman,  ab- 
normal ?  Happy  is  he  who  can  gather 
346 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

the  flower,  and  bear  it  away  in  his « 
bosom ;  yet  have  we  no  cause  to  pity 
the  other  who  walks  until  nightfall, 
steeped  in  the  glorious  perfume  of  the 
flower  no  eyes  can  behold.  Must  the 
life  be  a  failure,  useless  and  valueless, 
that  is  not  as  completely  happy  as  it 
possibly  might  have  been  ?  It  is  you 
yourself  would  have  brought  what  was 
best  in  the  love  you  regret ;  and  if,  as 
we  said,  the  soul  at  the  end  possess  only 
what  it  has  given,  does  not  something 
already  belong  to  us  when  we  are  inces- 
santly seeking  for  chances  of  giving  ? 
Ah  yes  —  I  declare  that  the  joy  of  a  ' 
perfect,  abiding  love  is  the  greatest  this 
world  contains ;  and  yet,  if  you  find  not 
this  love,  nought  will  be  lost  of  all  you 
have  done  to  deserve  it,  for  this  will  go 
to  deepen  the  peace  of  your  heart,  and 
render  still   braver    and    purer   the    calm 

of  the  rest  of  your  days. 
347 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 


§  III. 

And,  besides,  we  always  can  love.  If 
our  own  love  be  admirable,  most  of  the 
joys  of  admirable  love  will  be  ours.  In 
the  most  perfect  love,  the  lovers'  happi- 
ness will  not  be  exactly  the  same,  be 
their  union  never  so  close ;  for  the  better 
of  the  two  needs  must  love  with  a  love 
that  is  deeper ;  and  the  one  that  loves 
with  a  deeper  love  must  be  surely  the 
happier.  Let  your  task  be  to  render 
yourself  worthy  of  love — and  this  even 
more  for  your  own  happiness  than  for 
that  of  another.  For  be  sure  that  when 
love  is  unequal,  and  the  hours  come 
clouded  with  sorrow,  it  is  not  the  wiser 
of  the  two  who  will  suffer  the  most  — 
not  the  one  that  shows  more  generosity, 
justice,  more  high-minded  passion.      The 

one    who    is    better    will    rarely    becpme 
348 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

the  victim  deserving  our  pity.  For,  in- 
deed, to  be  truly  a  victim  it  must  be 
our  own  faults,  our  injustice,  wrong- 
doing, beneath  which  we  suffer.  How- 
ever imperfect  you  be,  you  still  may 
suffice  for  the  love  of  a  marvellous 
being ;  but  for  your  love,  if  you  are 
not  perfect,  that  being  will  never  suffice. 
If  fortune  one  day  should  lead  to  your 
dwelling  the  woman  adorned  with  each 
gift  of  heart  and  of  intellect — such  a 
woman  as  history  tells  of,  a  heroine  of 
glory,  happiness,  love — you  will  still  be 
all  unaware  if  you  have  not  learned,  your- 
self, to  detect  and  to  love  these  gifts 
in  actual  life ;  and  what  is  actual  life 
to  each  man  but  the  life  that  he  lives  ^ 
himself.^  All  that  is  loyal  within  you 
will  flower  in  the  loyalty  of  the  woman^^ 
you  love ;  whatever  of  truth  there  abides 
in    your    soul    will    be    soothed    by    the 

truth  that  is  hers;    and  her  strength  of 
349 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

character  can  be  only  enjoyed  by  that  which 
is  strong  in  you.  And  when  a  virtue 
of  the  being  we  love  finds  not,  on  the 
threshold  of  our  heart,  a  virtue  that  re- 
sembles it  somewhat,  then  is  it  all  un- 
aware to  whom  it  shall  give  the  gladness 
it  brings. 

§    112. 

And  whatever  the  fate  your  affections 
may  meet  with,  do  you  never  lose  cour- 
age ;  above  all,  do  not  think  that,  love's 
happiness  having  passed  by  you,  you  will 
never,  right  up  to  the  end,  know  the 
great  joy  of  human  life.  For  though 
happiness  appear  in  the  form  of  a  torrent, 
or  a  river  that  flows  underground,  of  a 
whirlpool  or  tranquil  lake,  its  source 
still  is  ever  the  same  that  lies  deep  down 
in  our  heart;  and  the  unhappiest  man  of 
all   men   can   conceive    an   idea   of  great 

joy.       It    is    true    that   in   love    there   is 
350 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

ecstasy  that  he  doubtless  never  will  know  ; 
but  this  ecstasy  would  leave  deep  melan- 
choly only  in  the  earnest  and  faithful 
heart,  if  there  were  not  in  veritable  love 
something  more  stable  than  ecstasy,  more 
profound  and  more  steadfast ;  and  all 
that  in  love  is  profoundest,  most  stable 
and  steadfast,  is  profoundest  in  noble 
lives  too  —  is  most  stable  and  steadfast 
in  them.  Not  to  all  men  is  it  given  to 
be  hero  or  genius,  victorious,  admirable 
always,  or  even  to  be  simply  happy  in 
exterior  things ;  but  it  lies  in  the  power 
of  the  least  favoured  among  us  to  be 
loyal,  and  gentle,  and  just,  to  be  gener- 
ous and  brotherly ;  he  that  has  least 
gifts  of  all  can  learn  to  look  on  his 
fellows  without  envy  or  hatred,  without 
malice  or  futile  regret ;  the  outcast  can 
take  his  strange,  silent  part  (which  is 
not  always  that  of  least  service)  in  the 
gladness  of  those  who  are  near  him ; 
35> 


Wisdom  and  Destiny 

he  that  has  barely  a  talent  can  still 
learn  to  forgive  an  offence  with  an  ever 
nobler  forgiveness,  can  find  more  excuses 
for  error,  more  admiration  for  human 
word  and  deed ;  and  the  man  there  are 
none  to  love  can  love,  and  reverence,  love. 
And,  acting  thus,  he  too  will  have  drawn 
near  the  source  whither  happy  ones  flock 
— oftener  far  than  one  thinks,  and  in  the 
most  ardent  hours  of  happiness  even — 
the  source  over  which  they  bend,  to  make 
sure  that  they  truly  are  happy.  Far 
down,  at  the  root  of  love's  joys — as  at 
the  root  of  the  humble  life  of  the  up- 
right man  from  whom  fate  has  withheld 
her  smile  —  it  is  confidence,  sincerity, 
generosity,  tenderness,  that  alone  are 
truly  fixed  and  unchangeable.  Love 
throws  more  lustre  still  on  these  points  of 
light,  and  therefore  must  love  be  sought. 
For  the  greatest  advantage  of  love  is 
that  it  reveals  to  us  many  a  peaceful  and 
35»' 


Wisdom  and  Destiny- 
gentle  truth.  The  greatest  advantage  of 
love  is  that  it  gives  us  occasion  to  love 
and  admire  in  one  person,  sole  and 
unique,  what  we  should  have  had  neither 
knowledge  nor  strength  to  love  and  ad- 
mire in  the  many;  and  that  thus  it 
expands  our  heart  for  the  time  to  come. 
And  at  the  root  of  the  most  marvellous 
love  there  never  is  more  than  the  simplest 
felicity,  an  adoration,  a  tenderness  within 
the  understanding  of  all,  a  security,  faith, 
and  fidelity  all  can  acquire,  an  intensely 
human  admiration,  devotion  —  and  all 
these  the  eager,  unfortunate  heart  could 
know  too,  in  its  sorrowful  life,  had  it 
only  a  little  less  impatience  and  bitterness, 
a  little  more  initiative  and  energy. 


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